


mr. class president!

by playingprince



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, References to Sex, Slow Burn, Student Council, and really cute, hi this is gonna be really long probably, i'll keep tagging as i come up with stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 96,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playingprince/pseuds/playingprince
Summary: Renjun had been number one for as long as he could remember. He was naturally smart, but studied like his life depended on it. It wasn’t at the behest of his mother, who didn’t seem to care how well Renjun did in school so long as he was happy. It was purely a point of personal pride. Renjun had to be number one at everything. Number one grades, number one position on the student council, number one favorite student to all his teachers.Much to his disappointment, every number one needed a number two. And his number two was Lee Jeno.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Comments: 394
Kudos: 600





	1. Nominations

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone!! first, i'd like to say that while i rated this T, aside from some mentions of sex and a few bad words, this is pretty much totally clean! second, this is blatantly an american high school populated entirely by kpop idols....... pls pretend it makes sense!! lmao
> 
> anyways -- enjoy!

Renjun always loved the first day of school.

It was a ritual in his house. He would select his first day outfit the night before and lay it out over the fuzzy chair in the corner of his bedroom. He would review his class schedule and plug it into his Google Calendar, along with the weekdays of Debate Club, French Club, and Model UN (all three of which he’d been a member since he was a freshman). Then he would break out his brand-new planner and write down his first day goals. They were the same that year as they were every year, but with a special addition at the end:

1\. Charm classmates with my effervescent attitude, incredible intelligence, and fashion sense.

2\. Take first day selfie with Yoorim. Make sure she crouches.

3\. Feel out the competition for class president. Discourage potential rivals from joining the race.

4\. Make the freshmen think you’re cool. Perhaps find one to become your apprentice.

5\. Make the most of your senior year!!!!!!

Bullet point five was circled in red marker. He could hardly believe it was his last year. Some people called high school the worst years of their lives, but to Renjun, it was the time he had thrived the most. The combination of increased autonomy with the ability to pick and choose his social circles and clubs allowed him to be independent, but not lonely. The world was big enough for him to grow, but not too big to lose himself in. He’d learned so much about himself the past three years. He almost wished high school could last forever.

The traditions continued in the morning. He showered and got dressed (stripy sweater, black beret, combat boots), and his mother called him downstairs to take photos. She shuffled him to stand in front of the wall that bore a sign reading, “LIFE ♡ LOVE ♡ FAMILY” in squiggly white chalk font. Inky, their Scottish terrier, ran into the living room. Renjun patted his thighs, and she jumped up into his arms, squirming as she tried to lick his face.

“Oh, absolutely adorable,” his mother cooed. She had her fancy camera, and was twisting the focus on it as she tried to get her perfect shot. “Hunny, turn a little to the side. So we can see your backpack.”

He did as he was told, letting the bag hang slightly off his shoulder. He was an excellent model. He had the perfect instincts for it, his mother always said. He put on his biggest smile, the one he’d worn on the front page of the local newspaper when he’d won first prize at the science fair for his aeronautics gust suppression model.

Once she was satisfied, his mother bounced over and kissed the crown of his head. “I can’t believe my little baby is all grown up,” she cried. “Senior year already… where did the time go?”

“ _Mom,_ ” he groaned, trying to straighten his hair where her lips had ruffled it. “Quit it.”

“I can’t help it. You’re too cute.” She set her camera on the stand, then high-tailed into the kitchen. “I made you oatmeal for breakfast! Come and eat before the bus gets here!”

This was also tradition — every first day of school, his mother made him oatmeal with bananas and blueberries and almonds. Renjun was a firm believer in the power of a good breakfast, though he often ended up abandoning it by a week into the semester, when he would begin chugging mugs of coffee instead to keep him going until the end of his extracurriculars. Yoorim informed him that the caffeine made him 50% more efficient and 100% more “intense.” She used this word for him a lot. He didn’t know whether it was meant to be a good thing or a bad thing, but he’d decided to embrace it.

He wolfed the oatmeal down, chasing it with a glass of apple juice, then double checked one last time that he had everything he needed for the first day. Planner, pencil pag, freshly decorated binders for every class, their covers made in Picsart.

Down the block, he could hear the bus engine.

“See you later,” he said. He blew his mother a kiss, and bounded down the front path to the bus stop.

—

West Gardens Public High sat close to the center of town. Renjun’s graduating class had two-hundred and fifty students. He knew all their names, primarily because his slogan for the class elections freshman year had been, “Elect a class president who _really_ knows you!” so he’d memorized the names and one fun fact about every single kid in his grade. Then he had chased them down in the halls with his flyer, shoved it into their hands, and said things like, “Sungha! You bring your lunch every day except Pizza Friday, right? Well, as class president, I will promise to expand Pizza Friday past the weekend to create Pizza Monday! The perfect way to start your school week, right?”

This was the key to wrangling voters — nothing quite like a personal touch. Yoorim had informed Renjun that this was a shallow approach. Maybe it had been at first, but by the time it was over, he’d found he’d really become invested in his classmates. One fact about them had made him want to learn more. And it had made him want to be the very best class president he could be, because suddenly, all of his classmates were real people to him. Even the boys who poked fun at him for being short and annoying and wearing yellow-plaid jeans to school.

Like any public school, West Gardens High was not pretty. Speckly granite floors, drab white walls, foam ceiling tiles that kids liked to lodge pencils into. There was a bandaid that had been stuck above the east wing doorway for the entirety of Renjun’s high school career, which apparently every staff member was too lazy to peel off. It had even been lovingly given a name by the student body — Randy Bandaid — and, as a prank, was suggested as the school’s new mascot during a poll the previous year. They’d gone with a trout instead, in reference to West Gardens’ historic trout fishery, responsible for keeping its economy afloat during the early 20th century. Renjun was not entirely certain that it was a better choice than the bandaid.

He walked through the east wing doorway now, passing the chem lab to where Yoorim stood by her locker. When he called her name, she looked up and a huge smile bloomed on her face.

“Renjun!” She beckoned him over and gave him a bear hug, pressing their cheeks together. Then she pushed him back so she could analyze his outfit. “Oh wow. Really went for it, huh?”

“ _Went_ for it? I thought I was playing it lowkey. You know. _Chic._ ” He flattened a wrinkle in his sweater. “Oh — I almost forgot! First day selfie!” He tugged his phone from his front pocket and turned so that they both stood against the lockers, leaning close together for the camera. In his combat boots, they were about the same height. He made her bend her knees anyway, to give the illusion that he was the taller one. Yoorim raised a peace sign and pursed her lips. Renjun snapped a few shots in quick succession, checked to make sure they looked cute, and posted the best one to his Instagram.

Heo Yoorim Fun Fact: she had been Renjun’s best friend since the sixth grade.

Her family had just moved into town, and Renjun’s teacher had asked him to guide her through her first day and show her around the school. By the time the final bell rang, they were already friends, and by the end of that week, they were attached at the hip. Before Yoorim, Renjun had never really had a best friend. Other kids had seemed to shy away from Renjun, because he was sometimes too bright and self-assured for his own good. He could be intimidating. But Yoorim was not an easily intimidated girl. She was cool and smart and plenty self-assured herself, so they balanced each other out. He needed someone like her. He needed someone to temper him when he was on fire with a million ideas.

They walked to homeroom together. Renjun considered it destiny that they ended up in the same homeroom again. Whatever greater power ruled their universe had clearly engineered things in their favor. They strolled down the hall with their hands linked and swinging.

“So,” Yoorim said. “Have you got a box of buttons? A giant banner? A campaign anthem performed on recorder?”

“Nope. Today’s just for gauging things. You know. Getting an idea of the political climate.”

“You really _are_ lowkey, then.” She gave an impressed whistle at his restraint. “Well. I’m sure you’ll come up with something great for next week. I’ll probably receive a thousand texts from you at midnight on Sunday, won’t I?”

Renjun sighed dreamily. “You know me so well.”

That upcoming Friday, the school had set aside a forty minute slot for class meetings. All the seniors would gather in the auditorium to nominate their class representatives, and the following week, campaigning would begin. Renjun took it more seriously than anything else. He was class president three years running, and Yoorim was always his vice president, and together they ruled benevolently and democratically. Renjun was a man of the people. He represented the true West Gardens High values.

His first year, he’d run against another kid, some brainless jock who’d been relying on his friends forming a voting block to push him over the edge. Renjun had resorted to endless campaigning, plastering his face from floor to ceiling in the main lobby, and opening a booth outside the gym to field student complaints so that he could promise to fix every single one of them. He’d won by nineteen votes, not quite a landslide but not exactly neck-and-neck, either. The intense thrill of that final vote reading had practically been enough to justify the entire process. The following year of community service, fundraising, and school board negotiations had simply been a bonus.

(Make no mistake — Renjun loved all of those things. He was a diplomat and an overachiever by nature.)

After the vote, the other kid had come up to Renjun and snidely remarked, “I guess it’s better for the nerd to win it, anyway. Who else has the patience for that shit?”

Renjun had only puffed his chest and tapped a proud finger to his _Freshman President_ pin. He wore it, and the word “nerd,” like a badge of honor.

“Maybe you’ll run unopposed this year,” Yoorim suggested. “You’d think, at this point, they’d know you have it in the bag.”

There was always someone else vying for the position. Sophomore year, it was another honor roll student who had seemed to be pressured into it by her parents, and junior year, a new student who clearly did not understand how things worked around there. Each year, Renjun’s winning margin had increased; last time, he’d walked away with every vote except two.

“Maybe,” he responded. “It might be nice, not having to campaign for once.”

Yoorim grinned knowingly. “Yeah, right. You love campaigning more than anything. You’re a campaign fiend.”

He giggled. “Alright, you got me. In fact, I hope I have _two_ rivals this year. Just to spice things up.”

“I’m sure you’ll flatten both of them.”

“But only with my vice president there to support me.”

Yoorim stopped walking, just outside their homeroom. “Actually, Renjun. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

 _Uh-oh._ Renjun’s stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you’re abandoning me.”

“Not _abandoning,_ per se.” She shuffled her sneakers nervously, like she’d known he was going to react badly. “I just think it might be nice to switch things up this year. I was thinking I might run for secretary instead.”

“Secretary?” Renjun repeated, aghast. “Yoorim, secretary is objectively the least sexy student council position. I’m offended that you would even entertain such an idea.”

“Listen. Vice president is barely even a position at all. It’s just code for _second fiddle._ At least the secretary actually has responsibilities.” She slumped in exasperation. “Admit it, Renjun. You just like me to be V.P. for the aesthetic of it.”

Renjun stuck out his bottom lip, as if, if he made her feel sorry enough for him, she might reconsider. “Yeah, but the aesthetic is so good! It makes us an inseparable power duo! It means I can make cute joint flyers for us!”

“You realize you can still do that if I run for secretary, right?”

“It just isn’t the same.” Renjun shook his head disapprovingly. “But fine. I respect your decision.” They entered homeroom. Renjun dropped into a seat in the first row (he _always_ sat in the first row, of every class) and rubbed his chin. “I wonder who’ll end up V.P., then. I hope they’re cool.”

“By which you mean, ‘I hope they can match my complete over-enthusiasm for student government.’”

“Precisely.”

“Not sure anyone can do that, but it’s a nice thought.”

Renjun tried to imagine his perfect vice president. Yoorim had come pretty close. Someone reliable and clever, but not _too_ clever, in case they tried to usurp him Caesar-style. Someone helpful, but not overbearing, who would help his ideas to flourish and not speak over them. He wanted someone to support him. And he wanted someone who really cared. Someone who understood that student government wasn’t just a silly game they could toss on their college application. It was something that could really make a difference. All it took was the right leadership.

During their first-period class, Renjun did something distinctly un-Renjun-like, something non-traditional. Instead of absorbing every word his teacher said, he began making a list on the back page of his notebook, of all the ingredients for his perfect vice president.

—

Right before lunch was AP Biology. Aside from Yoorim’s admission, the day had been pretty predictable so far. Every class followed the same blueprint: teacher introduction, syllabus, a promise that things would start for _real_ next time. Most of the kids seemed bored by it, but Renjun loved Syllabus Day. He liked taking the freshly-stapled syllabi, still warm from the printer, and slipping them into his page protectors, right under the “class materials” tab of his binder. Binder organization was one of his many passions.

He was straightening his black pen and his TV commercial-sharp #2 pencil in the rut at the front of his desk before class when there were suddenly fingers pattering above them, trying to get his attention.

Renjun looked up. It was Jeno.

Lee Jeno Fun Fact: he had the second highest grades in their class.

Renjun had been number one for as long as he could remember. He was naturally smart, but studied like his life depended on it. It wasn’t at the behest of his mother, who didn’t seem to care how well Renjun did in school so long as he was happy. It was purely a point of personal pride. Renjun had to be number one at everything. Number one grades, number one position on the student council, number one favorite student to all his teachers.

Much to his disappointment, every number one needed a number two. And his number two was Lee Jeno.

“Hey,” Jeno said. “How was your summer, Mr. Class President?”

Renjun raised his chin snootily. He hated when Jeno called him that, because he always said it with a smirk. “I’m not class president _yet._ We still have to vote this year.”

“I’m sure you’ll win it again. Is anyone else even running?”

“Not that I know of.” Renjun had been asking around all morning to feel out the competition. So far, he hadn’t come across anyone else who’d seemed interested in it. Maybe they’d finally realized there was no point. He would skunk them no matter what.

Jeno picked up Renjun’s pen and tapped it playfully on his desk. “Anyway. Ready to get your ass kicked this year? I’m practically a bio expert.”

Renjun gave a haughty laugh, then reached out and held the pen still. “You say that every semester. I’ll believe it when I see it, _Number Two._ ”

Every time they had a class together (which was most of the time, since they both always took the AP sections), they made a competition out of it. On days they received their marked tests back, they would meet out in the hallway after class and compare their grades. Renjun got the better end of it approximately eighty percent of the time (judging by the tally scores he kept on the inside back cover of his planner), which he loved to gloat over. Last year, he’d beaten Jeno by exactly one point on their pre-calculus midterm, which he’d celebrated with a full-belly laugh and a victory dance right there in the hall. To Jeno’s credit, he took the gloating well, usually by shaking his head with a grin and promising, “Next time, I’ll show you up. Just you wait.”

(When he _did_ show Renjun up, Renjun could be a bit of a sore loser. Yoorim would tell him he took those things way too seriously. Renjun would only respond with a pout.)

“I’m not kidding,” Jeno went on. He started tapping the pen again. Renjun wanted to steal it back and fling it at Jeno’s forehead. “Photosynthesis? That’s my shit. You’d better study up, kid.”

Renjun’s face flushed, to his utter embarrassment. “Don’t call me ‘kid.’ I’m a month older than you, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’re about half a foot shorter.”

“I am not!”

Jeno laughed, his eyes becoming overjoyed half-crescents. “Sure. Well. I anticipate your campaign slogan for this year. I hope you can outdo last year’s. What was it again?”

Renjun’s face remained red as he muttered, “‘A vote for Huang can never go wrong.’”

“That’s the one.” Jeno relinquished Renjun’s pen, adjusted his backpack strap, and added, “I like your hat,” before he walked to the back of the room and took his seat.

Renjun self-consciously straightened his beret. He could never quite tell what Jeno’s motives were. There was no malice in his teasing, not like the way the other kids sometimes were. Renjun suspected he was trying to undermine his confidence for the express purpose of beating him in their little grades game. It was the only answer that made sense.

Renjun twisted in his seat, as subtly as possible, to look at Jeno. He was the type of boy that was popular with the girls, and the other boys, _and_ the teachers. Handsome face, laidback attitude, unflinchingly friendly. A model student. He was on the school’s basketball team, and well-built from it, which Renjun usually tried hard not to pay attention to. He’d never heard a bad word spoken about him. Which made him even more annoying — if Renjun couldn’t beat his test scores all the time, he at least wanted the moral high ground.

Still, Renjun had a grudging respect for him. His life would be awfully boring without any competition. And Jeno was good competition, too. A worthy rival, Renjun decided. Someone who could dish it just as good as they could take it.

Jeno caught Renjun staring. His lips quirked in their familiar smirk.

Renjun stuck out his tongue, blew a raspberry, and whirled back around.

—

Renjun and his mother sat side by side on the couch, wearing clay masks and watching Iron Chef. Inky lay on the floor in front of them, chewing her squeaky hot dog-shaped toy. It was a relaxing way to spend the evening after the first day of school. He and his mother had Relaxation Hour every week, where they could tell each other about everything the other missed at school or work. His mother always explained the office drama, theorizing about which coworker was sleeping with which coworker and who it was who had left the inside of the microwave covered in cheese. Renjun usually told her about his clubs and the student council. He always conveniently left out Lee Jeno. He tried not to think about him after school hours, for the sake of his own sanity.

“So,” his mother said, sipping on her iced tea. “Did you accomplish all your first day goals?”

Renjun ran over the list in his head. “I think I did. Let’s see… took a selfie with Yoorim. Felt out the competition. Charmed everyone I met… Oh!” He bolted upright, nearly overturning the giant bowl of popcorn he balanced in his lap. One piece tumbled over. It landed on the floor and Inky gobbled it up. “I didn’t meet any of the freshmen! I completely forgot!”

“You still have time. It’s not like they’ll disappear.”

“That’s true. But I want to wrangle them while they’re still naive and impressionable. That way they _have_ to like me!”

“That sounds very devious,” his mother said. She noticed a strand of his hair had slipped down into his mask, and pushed it back towards his hairline, wiping the green gunk out of it. “But you know, you don’t have to force that kind of thing. People will naturally like you if you just act like yourself.”

“Aww, shucks.” Renjun appreciated the sentiment, though he didn’t entirely believe it. Half the kids in his grade ignored him, no matter how badly he wanted them to like him. Maybe that was why he tried so hard. He simply wanted them to give him a chance. He wanted to be the class president everyone loved, not the class president who only won because no one cared who got the job.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.” His mother sighed fondly into her iced tea. “There’s not a kid on earth who cares more about their school than you do. That’s why you’ll be successful. Because you really, really care.” She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Though maybe you care _too_ hard, sometimes. It can scare people away.”

“I’ll try to be less scary, then,” he responded wryly.

“That’s my boy,” she said. She patted her clay mask to see if it was dry, and added, “You know, this thing’ll have me aging in reverse. Maybe I can sneak into school with you tomorrow and relive my youth.”

Renjun laughed, and it rocked the popcorn bowl again. Inky helped herself to a feast.

—

The following day, Renjun walked through the empty hallway with a worksheet in his hands. He was often given copier room duty by his teachers, because he was the student most trusted to do it. He’d made enough trips to the copier that he’d become quite good friends with the copier lady, who didn’t really seem to have a job except to sit at her table with a cup of coffee and hit the copy button whenever someone came in. She always rattled a bowl of hard candies in front of him for him to choose from, and told him she liked his clothes. Today, he was wearing his violet suspenders and his most colorful socks that said “Tuesday” up the sides. He liked to coordinate his socks to the days of the week.

On his way there, he noticed a lanky boy standing to the side of the hall, nearly pressing his forehead to the wall, bent over a piece of paper and murmuring something under his breath.

Renjun went up and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey.”

The boy startled and spun around. His eyes were filled with fear. The look of a freshman.

 _A freshman_.

Renjun was delighted.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” he asked the boy.

“Yeah…” The boy crinkled his paper in his hands. “I’m supposed to be in art, but I have no idea where the art room is.”

“Oh! I can help you with that. Want me to show you the way?” Renjun didn’t wait for an answer and beckoned the boy to follow. “I’m Huang Renjun, by the way. You might have heard of me. Senior class president, three years running.”

“I’m Jisung,” the freshman said. In an awed whisper, he asked, “You’re really the senior class president? I’ve never heard of you.”

Renjun deflated slightly. _He could have at least pretended, to save my pride._ “Yeah. I’m actually pretty famous around here. Though I’m not class president this year _yet._ We still have to have the reelection.”

Jisung’s mouth rounded in a perfect _o,_ seeming genuinely impressed. “That’s really cool. I wish I could do something like that, but I’m too shy to.”

“Don’t be shy! Have a little confidence!” Renjun patted Jisung supportively and perhaps too hard on the back. Jisung said a silent _ow_. “Want a tip?”

“Sure.”

“Walk standing straight. It helps to project a powerful aura.” Renjun demonstrated for him. When he was little, and convinced he would be a model someday, he’d practiced walking with a book on his head like they did in the movies. With it, he’d achieved perfect posture. About a year later, he’d decided that models were brainless and that he wanted to be a lawyer, instead. A year after _that,_ he’d realized “why not both?” and decided he’d be a lawyer who also models on the weekends. This was what he’d written under “what I want to be when I grow up” in his elementary school yearbook.

“Oh!” Jisung tried to imitate Renjun, standing awkwardly with his spine railstraight.

Renjun realized how much taller this made Jisung than him, and put a hand on his arm. “Nice job,” he said, “but you shouldn’t do it when you’re next to me. It makes you seem cocky, trying to look powerful next to the class president.”

Jisung nodded his understanding and immediately dropped back into a slouch. He was still taller than Renjun, but some things in life were unavoidable.

They reached the art room. Before letting Jisung go, Renjun said, “Let me give you my phone number. If you ever need help again, you can text me.”

“Whoa.” Jisung’s eyes glittered with appreciation. “You’ll be like my mentor!”

“Exactly!”

Jisung handed over his phone, and Renjun plugged his number in. He entered his name as “Renjun (Cool Mentor)” and said, “Okay, Jisung. I’ll see you around. Maybe I’ll even ask for your help in my campaign!”

Jisung smiled softly at his phone as it was handed back, as if it were something precious, and Renjun wondered if Jisung had any friends at their school. Well, he did now. And Renjun liked to consider himself one of the best friends a person could have.

Jisung went into the art room, briefly filling the hall with the scent of acrylic paints. Renjun remembered the worksheet in his hands, and hurried back the way he’d come, a long detour off from the copy room.

—

On Thursday, they had their very first AP Bio quiz. It was only on the first chapter of their textbook, about eight pages which Renjun had pretty much memorized word for word. The night before, he’d spent two hours bent over his desk, studying the flashcards he’d made. Then he’d had his mother go through them with him. They had a special study method that involved a tier system of rewards. For every correct flashcard, he would earn a treat, and for each correct card in succession, the snack reward level would rise from Mildly Tasty to Moderately Tasty to Very Tasty, i.e. from cheddar goldfish to M&Ms to sour gummy worms. If he missed a card, he would be demoted back to Goldfish Level. But last night, he’d been on a solid Gummy Worm streak.

He would defeat Lee Jeno, by any means necessary.

When Jeno walked into the classroom, he waved in Renjun’s direction. Renjun traced his path with a death glare. Jeno’s cheeks puffed like he was holding back a laugh.

The teacher handed their quizzes out face down. As soon as she announced “start,” Renjun flipped his quiz dramatically over and began to write, nose only an inch away from the paper. Not only did he and Jeno compete for grades, but they also competed to see who could turn their work in first. It was considered a Double Victory to have not only the higher score, but the faster completion time. Renjun had even practiced increasing his handwriting speed in a specially designated notebook for this very purpose.

He paused for a second, trying to see if he could hear Jeno’s pencil scribbling behind him, trying to gauge how fast he was writing. He couldn’t tell. He began to sweat, and forced himself to work faster.

He filled in the last bubble, slammed his pencil on his desk, and brought his quiz to the front of the room. He made sure to stride, to try and make Jeno nervous with his confidence. Jeno himself brought his paper up just a minute later, seemingly unbothered. Renjun seethed quietly in his seat.

The teacher gave them twenty minutes to work on homework so she could grade their quizzes, then handed them back at the end of class. Renjun saw his circled 100 at the top of the page, and whispered a quiet “yes” under his breath.

Once the bell rang, he raced out into the hall, at their usual meeting spot to the side of the door. Jeno arrived shortly, quiz in hand, suppressing a smile like he thought he’d already won.

“So. How’d you do?” Renjun asked,

Jeno flipped his paper around. “Ninety-nine. You?”

Renjun revealed his own grade before Jeno even finished the syllable. “Hundred. Ha! I win.”

“Damn,” Jeno responded, though lightly, as if faking his frustration. “You got me.”

“Yup. A Double Victory, too. And you said bio was your best subject!” Renjun did his most evil laugh, ignoring the strange looks it earned him from the passersby.

“Enjoy your victory now,” Jeno warned. “I’ll get you next time.”

“No chance. I’m aiming for a perfect record this year.”

“Hmm. You say that now.” Jeno flopped his quiz paper in Renjun’s direction as if pointing a finger. “But your hands’ll be full once the election starts. Won’t be so easy to beat me then.”

“You underestimate my talents.”

Jeno grinned. “Yeah, yeah. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Is Yoorim running as your V.P. again?”

Renjun did not like this question. He especially did not like it being asked by Jeno. He was strongly suspicious. “Maybe. Maybe not. There would be no way of knowing.”

“So, no?”

Renjun scowled. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

“I see.” Very nonchalantly, Jeno asked, “What happens if no one runs for V.P.? Does it just stay empty all year?”

“Don’t be getting any funny ideas. If you run for V.P., I’ll —”

“I wasn’t going to,” Jeno interrupted. “I’m only curious. Do you get to be your own V.P. or something? President _and_ Vice President? Sounds like the kind of thing you’d like.”

Renjun snorted. “Of course not. If no one runs for V.P., it gets handed to the second place Presidential candidate. And if no one else is running for Pres, it gets passed to the Secretary or Treasurer runner-ups.”

“Fascinating,” Jeno said, eyes squinted as if turning a thought over in his head. “Utterly fascinating.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Jeno turned to walk away. Over his shoulder, he tossed, “See you later.”

Renjun wanted to smack himself for saying anything. Jeno always had a special talent for making Renjun do irresponsible things. He called after him, “Student government is not a joke, Lee Jeno! Don’t mess with it on a whim!”

“Whatever you say,” Jeno answered, his voice a faint echo from down the hall.

Renjun watched him round the corner, jaw dropped, beginning to sweat again.

—

“Who does he think he is?” Renjun muttered, walking circles around the living room couch, hands clasped behind his back. He often did this when angry. It didn’t really help, but it’s what smart people did while thinking in TV shows, so he thought he should do it, too.

“You’re overreacting,” Yoorim said, sucking the salt off of a pretzel. She was sprawled across two couch cushions as if it was her place, which it practically was, since she was over at Renjun’s house at least twice a week. “What’s it matter if he runs? Jeno’s a nice guy and a hard worker. He’d probably do great on the student council.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Renjun snapped back, as if that meant anything.

“Renjun. It’s obvious that you’re worried he might actually beat you. You can admit it.”

Renjun placed a shocked hand over his heart. “Jeno? Beat _me?_ No way.”

Yoorim rolled her eyes. “He could put up a fair fight. He’s popular. Everyone likes him.”

“Not _everyone._ ”

Renjun’s mother walked into the living room, carrying a basket of laundry.

“Mrs. Huang,” Yoorim said. “What do you think of Lee Jeno?”

“Jeno?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I like him!”

“Mom!” Renjun groaned. “You don’t even know who he is!”

“Yes I do. He was the boy who read the pledge at the National Honor Society ceremony last year, right?” Oblivious to Renjun’s frustration, she folded a freshly washed blanket over the back of the couch and smiled at the recollection. “He was adorable! I liked him.” Then she walked out of the room.

The National Honor Society ceremony, where Renjun had battled with Jeno for days leading up to it over which of them would get to read the pledge. Renjun had been certain he’d had it in the bag, because he’d made a strong personal appeal to the teacher in charge that included a moving rendition of the pledge complete with dramatic pauses in all the right places.

The next day, the pledge was handed to Jeno, because he’d arrived early to the ceremony to help set up all the chairs.

Renjun had uttered an evil curse under his breath as Jeno had gone up to the podium, praying his sleeve would catch fire on one of the ceremonial candles.

Even his _mom_ liked Jeno.

It dawned on Renjun suddenly. He clutched the sides of his head. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Yoorim. What am I gonna do? _He could win!_ ”

“That’s exactly what I was just saying.” She smiled and popped the pretzel into her mouth, completely unbothered by the hypothetical. “But the thing is, he probably isn’t running at all. You realize he only does these things because he likes to get a reaction out of you, right? He’s just teasing.”

Renjun stopped pacing. “Really?”

“Obviously. You’re so dramatic, that getting you worked up is like free TV. You’re an entire show. A one-man play.”

Renjun’s face reddened. He couldn’t help it. He was so passionate about school and clubs and grades that it was easy for him to be overbearing. Especially when it came to Jeno. There was some truth in what Yoorim had said. Renjun was threatened by him. He was afraid that Jeno was going to steal his thunder.

“I think the best thing to do is just ignore him,” Yoorim continued. “If you want him to stop messing with you, stop giving him the satisfaction.”

“But it’s so hard!” Renjun fell back onto the couch beside her, body ragdoll-limp with exasperation. “He’s too good at pushing my buttons. He has this smirk he does whenever he messes with me — his eyes crinkle up and his lips get all thin and I can just _tell_ he’s silently gloating!”

“Exactly how much of your brainspace does Jeno take up?”

“I guess I can only wait till tomorrow and see what he does,” Renjun decided. He crossed his arms, still quietly steaming. “But he’d better believe he’s got a big storm coming.”

“I’m sure he’s very afraid,” Yoorim assured him. She shoved the bag of pretzels in front of him. “Now eat. You always get cranky when you miss your after school snack.”

Renjun pursed his lips at her, but took a handful of pretzels anyway.

—

On Friday, all the seniors filed into the auditorium for class officer nominations. Renjun dragged Yoorim to sit with him as close to the front as they could. Then he waved at every student as they entered through the double doors, and even called out to some of them by name, just in case they’d forgotten about him over the summer. He had also considered bringing with him a sign that listed all of his previous accomplishments as class president and propping it up against the stage, to remind them of all the wonderful work he had done over the past three years, but Yoorim had convinced him not to.

Jeno walked in among a group of his friends. Renjun did the classic “I’ve got my eyes on you” hand gesture. Yoorim shoved his hand down into his lap.

Once everyone was inside and seated, Mrs. Jang, the world history teacher, climbed the steps up onto the stage and tapped the mic. “Hey everyone. I’m going to be the senior class’s staff advisor this year.” She was a tiny lady, close to forty, who wore a fuzzy pink sweater and perfectly rectangular glasses. “So I guess we’ll just jump right in. You can nominate yourself, or you can nominate one of your classmates, though they’re free to reject the nomination if they want. The candidates will have about a month to campaign, and the vote will be on September 27th. Sound good?”

A murmured assent rumbled around the auditorium. Most of them did not seem all that interested. There was a stray “this is boring” from the back of the room. Mrs. Jang ignored it and looked down at her clipboard.

“Alright. We’ll start with class treasurer. Any volunteers?”

No one leapt for it. Renjun turned and scanned the half-full auditorium. Last year, a girl with French tips and her hair in a scrunchie had run for the position, then spent all their meetings not saying a word while she’d played on her iPad. She must have realized that student government was not really an exciting venture. She did not show up to their last meeting of the year, and Renjun had been the one forced to pick off all the chewed gum she’d stuck to the inside of her desk for the past nine months.

He was glad she was not running again, but he was kind of hoping at least one person would bite the bullet.

Finally, one boy on the other side of the room raised his hand. “I nominate Donghyuck,” he said.

There some hushed laughter among the boys. A joke nomination, Renjun recognized. The boys did that sometimes — nominated one of their friends because they thought it was hilarious for some reason. Thankfully, most of the boys turned the nomination down.

But this time, Donghyuck stood, stretched his neck to either side as if it had been a huge chore, and said, “Alright, alright. I’ll do it.” The other boys whooped and hollered. Donghyuck grinned, basking in the attention.

Lee Donghyuck Fun Fact: he was very proud of his ugly red car that he liked to park right in the front of the parking lot where everyone could see it. Once, he had parked in the principal’s spot (the primest of real estate) when the rest of the spots were taken, and had received an afternoon’s detention. He’d told everyone the story on repeat for the next month or so like it was something to be proud of, even to people who had already heard it.

Renjun wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction as Mrs. Jang wrote Donghyuck’s name on her clipboard. “Well. If no one else wants to run, then I guess that makes Donghyuck our treasurer this year.”

The boys gave Donghyuck a series of pats on the back as he sat back down. He propped his feet up on the seat in front of him.

Mrs. Jang moved down the page. “Alright. Secretary is next. Any nominations?”

Yoorim immediately raised her hand. “I’ll run for it.”

Mrs. Jang seemed relieved at the lack of suspense this time. “Thank you, Yoorim. Anyone else?”

Silence again.

Mrs. Jang scratched her chin with the end of her pen. “Yoorim as secretary, then. Good, good. Now for vice president.”

She waited a very, very long time. Someone dropped a pencil on the floor, and the sound of it echoed through the auditorium.

“Come on, guys,” Mrs. Jang begged. “No one? Not a single person interested?”

This was not exactly an uncommon occurrence. Most of the kids were not interested in something like student government, partially, Renjun believed, because they didn’t understand what student government even did. Last year, he’d raised over a thousand dollars for class field trips, and the other kids still poked fun at him behind his back. It was a thankless job. Not many people were cut out for it. That was part of the reason he took so much pride in it.

Mrs. Jang adjusted the microphone, and it made a loud squeak. “Um. I guess we can just skip vice president and come back to it. Let’s move onto the big one. President. Nominees?”

Renjun’s hand shot up with so much enthusiasm he nearly fell forward out of his seat. “Me!” he announced. “I’ll do it!”

Mrs. Jang, unsurprised, turned her clipboard around to show the audience. “I’d already written you down, Renjun. You’re very... _reliable_.”

He took this as a compliment and leaned back smugly in his seat, ignoring the chorus of laughter behind him.

“Anyone else?” Mrs. Jang asked. She gave a cursory glance around the room, as if not really expecting anything. Then her eyes rounded, and she blinked in disbelief.

Renjun turned again, kneeling in his chair, gripping the back of the seat tensely in both hands as he sought out the disruption.

A few rows behind him, Jeno sat with his hand in the air, smiling innocently.

_Bastard. The spawn of the devil. Absolute evil son of a —_

“Lovely!” Mrs. Jang added his name, right below Renjun’s. “So it’ll be a race again this year. And whoever takes second place will be our vice president. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Jeno answered.

Renjun wanted nothing more than to launch himself over his seats and wring Jeno’s neck, but instead he turned robotically back around and forced out through gritted teeth, “Yup. Seems fair.”

“That’s it, then.” Mrs. Jang capped her pen and sighed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Again, we’ve got one month for our presidential nominees to campaign. And if anyone has any questions, just let me know. You’re free to go, now.”

The other seniors began to stream out of the auditorium. Renjun sat perfectly still, squeezing the armrests, vein pulsing in his temple.

“Well,” Yoorim said carefully. “Worst case scenario, you’re vice president. That’s still good, right?”

Renjun didn’t answer, because he was watching Jeno pass by in front of them, laughing with his friends as if he hadn’t just shaken up Renjun’s entire high school plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple additional notes:  
> 1) yoorim is very loosely based off of everglow's aisha  
> 2) like most of my fics, this won't have a designated update day, but i think updates will be pretty regular for the time being  
> 3) if you're a oyh reader, that fic will be updating soon!! do not be worried at me starting a new fic haha
> 
> thank you all for reading!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	2. Campaigning

During lunch, Renjun did not eat in the cafeteria. Instead, he took advantage of the free time to create a booth outside the library. Yoorim did not really need to be there, since she was not campaigning, but she joined him anyway to help him set up and provide moral support. They laid a blue cloth over the table and strung gold streamers along the sides (the West Gardens High colors), then placed two signs at the front. One had been made last night on the floor of Renjun’s bedroom with scented markers, which read in big bubble letters: _Vote Huang! Four years strong!_ Pasted around it were glittery star stickers, which attractively caught the light from above and the attention of any students who passed by it. The other sign could only be properly read if one stopped walking and came close to it — the writing was too cramped to be deciphered otherwise. At the top it said, _My Goals As Your Senior Class President,_ and below, it listed one hundred new ideas that Renjun intended to pursue that year if he was elected. They ranged from the sensible and probably necessary “reduce senior trip costs for low-income students,” to the highly ambitious and not-at-all necessary “create looping indoor rail system to carry students to class via train cart.”

“Do you think it’s good enough?” Renjun asked Yoorim, appraising his booth from the front.

“It’s very bright. Impossible to ignore, I’d say.”

“That’s exactly what I was going for.”

They sat behind it, and Renjun pulled a box from his backpack and placed it at the corner of the table. It contained stickers he had designed himself, some bearing his slogan, others bearing his face. He considered himself to be sort of a marketing expert. Last year, he’d made helium balloons with his name, and passed them out from his booth. That way, if someone carried them in the halls, they would be advertising him wherever they went. But then the teachers had started making a fuss about balloons in the classrooms and he’d been asked to pop them all and throw them out. Hence, the stickers this time. Something less likely to get him scolded, and more environmentally-friendly.

As they waited for students to come by, Renjun and Yoorim took their lunchboxes out and began to eat. Renjun was just about to take a bite of his peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich when Jeno came walking down the hall, carrying a classroom desk in his hands and plopping it down about five feet from Renjun’s booth. He collected a chair from the library, then dug around in his back pocket to produce and unfold a piece of computer paper with words “VOTE FOR LEE JENO” printed in 72-point Arial font. He taped it to the front of the desk with scotch tape, then sat down.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Renjun asked, sandwich still hovering midair, awaiting its first bite.

“This is my booth,” Jeno responded.

“It doesn’t even say what you’re running for.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” Jeno tore his paper off his desk and added, in a blue pen scribble, “for senior class president” before slapping it back in place.

“You didn’t even try at all,” Renjun accused, incensed at Jeno’s clear lack of give-a-damn. “No one’s gonna vote for you with a booth like that.”

“That’s fine. It doesn’t really matter if I get any votes, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I fully intend to get the vice president spot,” Jeno responded plainly, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head.

Renjun dropped his sandwich back onto its plastic baggie with a smack. “Why didn’t you just run for V.P. in the first place, then?”

He smiled. “Because I thought it would be more fun to run for president and get you all worked up.”

Renjun wondered if this was considered a justifiable provocation for murder. He wouldn’t be convicted for throttling someone _this_ annoying, right? At this point, it would practically be considered self-defense, _right?_

As if she could read his mind, Yoorim put a hand on Renjun’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you before? Just ignore him and focus on your own campaign.”

Renjun, with great difficulty, tore his eyes away from Jeno and faced forward at his booth. He wasn’t sure whether to actually believe Jeno or not. He could be telling the truth, or he could be trying to lower Renjun’s guard, that way he could sneak in and snatch the president position. Maybe it was all part of his mind games. A secret strategy to ensure his victory.

Renjun would not fall for his tricks. As a student approached from the end of the hall, Renjun sat up straighter in his seat, unwilling to let Jeno show him up.

“Hello,” he called, putting on his most charming smile. “Changho, right?”

The boy stopped walking, scratching awkwardly at his buzz cut. “Uh. Yeah.”

“I’m running for class president again this year. Have you decided on who you’ll be voting for yet? Because I would really appreciate your vote.” Renjun leaned forward and tapped the top of his ideas sign. “If you look down here, you can see —”

“I, uh. I don’t ever vote in these things, so…” Changho took a small step back, as if trying to run away without being noticed.

“That’s a shame.” Renjun leaned further, elbows on the table, knees in the seat of his chair. “Did you know that voter apathy is killing this nation?”

Yoorim tugged on Renjun’s shirt to pull him back down into his seat, and said, “What he’s trying to say is that voting is important. Appointing a good class president can help to make changes in our school.”

Renjun took her hint and folded his hands politely on the tabletop. “Right. Are there any issues you’d like to see addressed this year, Changho?”

“Well.” He twisted the strap of his messenger bag. “I guess I think it would be neat if my band could have a chance to perform here. Like if we could do a concert in the auditorium or something.”

Renjun took out his notebook, pen raised, performing his attentiveness. “That’s a great idea. I think it’s important to give students a venue to showcase their creativity.”

“Yeah. We weren’t allowed to participate in last year’s talent show, so...”

Renjun blinked. “You what?”

“They said it wasn’t appropriate, but I think that’s a load of bullshit.” Changho shrugged and stepped closer to the booth. Enthusiastically, he went on, “Anyway, for the show, I was thinking we could have fog machines, and like, those cool flame effects right at the front of the stage so it looks like we’re burning in hell. For our one song, there’s this stunt where out guitarist chomps fake blood capsules and uses it to draw a pentagram onto the floor —”

“That sounds lovely.” Renjun continued to smile blankly. “What’s the name of your band?”

“Sacrifical Sex Slaughter.”

“Oh my,” Yoorim whispered.

“Great.” Renjun shut his notebook without writing a single word. “If you give me your vote, I promise to do my best to get Sex Sacrifice on the West Gardens stage.”

“ _Sacrifical Sex Slaughter,”_ Changho corrected.

“Sure.” Renjun thrusted his box of stickers out. “Take one. And thank you for your time. I’ll see you on election day.”

Changho took a sticker, examining it with a frown, and walked off in the other direction.

“You cannot be seriously agreeing to that,” Yoorim hissed. “We can’t have a band like that performing in the auditorium.”

“No, but I need his vote, Yoorim,” Renjun murmured back, trying to avoid the ears of the booth beside him. “I’ve got competition. If I need to make a few empty promises to win, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Renjun? You’re like the most annoyingly moral person I know.” She tucked her long hair behind her ears and gave a slight roll of her eyes. “Geez. Jeno really does bring out the worst in you.”

At the mention of him, Renjun realized that Jeno had been strangely quiet through this entire exchange, and when he looked back over at his booth, he saw that Jeno had acquired some interest of his own. Jisung stood in front of the desk, nodding at something Jeno was saying.

“Hey!” Renjun waved wildly, as if Jisung could not see him there just a few feet away. “Jisung. What are you doing?”

“Oh. Hi, Renjun,” Jisung responded. “I was just talking to Jeno for a second —”

“Don’t talk to him. He’s mean and power-hungry and has no fashion sense and one time I saw him try and steal all the graph paper from the staff room except he tripped on his shoelaces and spilled the paper all over the floor. It was very embarrassing to watch.”

“You have just completely made that up,” Jeno objected.

“Also, he stinks. Like, really, really bad B.O. Get over here, Jisung. Before you catch it.”

Jeno rapped his knuckles on his desk to regain Jisung’s attention. “Just ignore him,” he said. “He can’t control who you talk to. Besides, he should be focusing on piloting his parade float.” He gestured broadly at Renjun’s sparkly booth.

Jisung’s eyes darted around nervously. “I’m… I’m not sure what to do.”

“Listen to _me_ ,” Renjun insisted. “I’m your mentor.”

“Actually, _I’m_ his mentor,” Jeno corrected. “So I think I’ll keep him at my booth, thanks.”

Renjun laughed as if it had been a joke. “Very funny, Jeno. I already claimed him last week. Go find some other freshman to brainwash.”

“No, I mean I’m literally his mentor. We were paired up by the school’s mentoring program. I help him with his homework after school.”

Renjun balked, much to his own dismay, because Jeno responded by flashing him his most annoying smirk yet.

“Jisung,” he whined, voice drenched in self-pity at the betrayal. “How could you do this? After I taught you that cool stuff about being confident and standing up straight?”

“You realize he can’t vote in this election, right?” Yoorim broke in beside him. “He’s a freshman. He can’t vote for the senior class.”

Renjun took his own advice and straightened his spine, trying to hold onto a semblance of his self-discipline. “You may have poached my freshman,” he told Jeno, as a final warning, “but you will never poach my pride.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jeno responded, the hint of a laugh tugging at the corners of his lips.

Nearing the end of the lunch period, Jeno gathered his things and went with Jisung into the library to help him study. Renjun and Yoorim were left alone in the quiet hallway. A few more students passed by, and Renjun was able to lure a few in, but one of them saw him and took off running in the other direction. Another told him he was going to write-in “Spongebob Squarepants” on his ballot, and Renjun informed him that there was no write-in option, and the kid said, “There is if I cross off your name and write something else in,” and then scampered away before Renjun could throw his box of stickers at his head.

It was beginning to look hopeless. What happened to his stunning success from the previous years? Had Jeno really thrown him so far off of his game? Renjun sighed and thumbed through his notebook, trying to find his campaign notes. Yoorim looked over his shoulder, and her eyebrows flew up suddenly as she caught notice of something.

“What was that?” she asked.

“What was what?”

“That page —” Impatiently, she took Renjun’s notebook from his hands and flipped to the back. “‘Ingredients for My Perfect Vice President’ — what’s this supposed to be?”

Renjun’s ears went highlighter pink. “Don’t — don’t read that.”

She did anyway. “Oh, it’s a list. Let’s see. ‘Well-organized. Responsible. Good listener. Leans progressive left on the political spectrum.’ That’s very specific.” Her finger traced further down the page, and she let out a little giggle. “Oh, what’s this?”

Renjun knelt in his chair and leaned over her, trying to snatch his notebook back, but she was too lanky, long arms stretching away from him. “Yoorim!”

She turned her torso so she was out of grabbing range, smiling slyly as she continued, “It says here ‘nice body.’ That seems like a strange requirement for a V.P.”

“I swear to God, Yoorim, I’m going to destroy all that you love.”

“‘Cute smile, looks dashing in a suit, can play at least one instrument well, preferably acoustic guitar.’ What, is your ideal vice president an attractive boy you can ogle every council meeting?” She turned the page over. “Oh my god, there’s a drawing.” She covered her mouth with a hand, as if trying to respectfully stifle her laughter. “Oh, he’s very handsome, Renjun. I like his swoopy hair.”

Renjun finally snatched the notebook out of her hands, face red and radiating heat. He sat back down, straightened his notebook and pen, and said, “Now, say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Thank you.”

“...that I wasn’t the sexy boy you always wanted me to be.”

He smacked her on the arm. “That’s not a real apology.”

Her real apology came in the form of her giving his shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze. “I think it’s sweet. I’m sure you will meet your kind, handsome, politically-active boyfriend someday, even if he can’t be your V.P.”

Renjun leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh. “But wouldn’t it be so rad if he was? We’d be a power couple. Then we could get married and go to law school together and eventually be president and vice president of the country, universally beloved by our citizens, who hold weekly celebrations in our honor.”

“That’s very ambitious of you, but I guess it’s to be expected.” She glanced back over to the empty space where Jeno’s booth had been, and smiled to herself. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll be able to check a few of those requirements off your list.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She began to pack her lunch. The period was nearly over, and they’d have to dismantle their booth before heading to Concert Band. “I just think it would help you to be a bit more open-minded.”

Renjun scrunched his nose like he could smell something rotting. “You’d better not be talking about Jeno. He’s not my type, plus he enjoys tormenting me. He’s pure evil.”

“If you say so.” Yurim began to tug down their golden streamers, folding them over her arm. “Help me with this, Mr. President. I may be your secretary, but I’m not your lackey.”

“That’s exactly what I needed a freshman for,” Renjun muttered, shoving his stickers into his backpack.

—

The next day, Renjun marched into French class with a vendetta. Maybe Jeno could throw off his campaign, but Renjun would always win when it came to the classroom. It was the perfect opportunity to reassert his dominance.

When Jeno walked into the room, Renjun sank his thumb in Jeno’s direction in a _you’re going down_ sort of gesture, but for once, Jeno did not react. He didn’t even look at Renjun as he passed to his seat on the opposite end of the row. _Must mean he’s finally taking things seriously,_ Renjun thought, crossing his arms. It would make the match closer, but Renjun was itching for a proper battle anyway, so he thought this was a good thing. It was always more fun to show Jeno up when they were both at the tops of their games.

The teacher entered, and announced that they would be reviewing _imparfait_ verb conjugations before their next test. Renjun did a mental fist pump. He was great with conjugations. French was one of his very best subjects; last year, he’d finally stepped up and become president of French Club, just another outstanding achievement to put on his resume. His presidential duties had mostly involved bringing in fresh-baked croissants and hanging banners around the club room during their holiday parties, which didn’t really have anything to do with academics, but he thought his deep appreciation of French culture might give him an edge anyway.

The teacher went up to the board, and wrote _ét-_ , then turned around. “Alright. Who can tell me what the first-person _imparfait_ is for the verb être?”

Renjun’s hand flew up in less than a second.

“Renjun?”

“ _Étais,_ ” he answered, smiling smugly.

She turned and filled in his answer on the board.

This was another one of their competitions. Anytime a teacher began asking a series of questions to the class, they would compete to see who could answer more of them. Sometimes, it got so heated that the both of them were practically leaping out of their chairs to try and beat the other to it.

Now, Renjun looked across to Jeno’s desk. The other boy was fiddling distractedly with his pencil, as if he was only vaguely interested in what was happening. Renjun narrowed his eyes judgmentally. Jeno must have really dropped the ball studying that semester. He was making things way too easy.

Three more questions, three more answers, all from Renjun. The other students seemed to know better than to interrupt him when he was on a streak. With every one Renjun got correct, he only got cockier. Jeno continued to sit it out, head propped tiredly on his folded arms.

“Okay,” the teacher said. “Last one, and since it’s a difficult one, whoever gets it right will get a prize.” She drummed her fingers on the top of her candy tin, making a series of sharp, metallic _tings._ “Can someone come up to the board and do all the _imparfait_ conjugations for the verb _finir_?”

Renjun wiggled his raised fingers.

He was invited up the front, where he wrote the verb endings in chalk. The teacher checked his answers, determined he’d gotten them all correct, then peeled open the top of her tin, allowing him to pick the sucker of his choice. He took a purposefully long time to decide, as if basking in his victory, before selecting a root beer flavored lollipop. All the while, he stared in Jeno’s direction, wishing he would just pay him a little attention, just so he could _know_ Jeno was aware of the massive skunking he’d just suffered, but Jeno had turned his face away, as if he was asleep at his desk.

A win was not satisfying without the loser admitting his defeat. When the bell rang, Renjun bounded to Jeno’s desk as he packed his things, and tapped the lollipop on the desk’s corner. “Hey,” he said. “Did you even try today? I really whooped your ass, huh?” He bounced joyfully on his toes.

“You sure did,” Jeno said, with flat disinterest.

“You didn’t even put up a fight. What, did you get sick of losing to me?”

Renjun expected a good-natured, self-deprecating laugh, but all he got was, “I’m not really in the mood today, Renjun. I’d rather you just leave me alone”

“ _Huh?_ ” Renjun cried indignantly. He was not used to rejection. Embarrassed, he tried to walk it back. “I was only playing. You don’t have to take it so seriously.”

Jeno didn’t say anything else. He slung his bag over his shoulder and met Jaemin, one of his friends, by the door. They walked away. Jeno did not even look back.

Renjun hovered open-mouthed with his lollipop in hand. He didn’t eat it, as if he’d been shamed out of it, and instead shoved it into the pocket of his backpack, hoping he’d regain his appetite later. Right now, he thought his stomach was beginning to ache.

—

“I don’t get it,” Renjun muttered. Five hours later, Jeno was still on his mind. “It’s not like I did something wrong. We _always_ do that. You know he gloats just as much as I do when _he_ wins.”

Yoorim shrugged. “You can be kind of overbearing, sometimes, you know.”

Renjun frowned and snapped a piece of tape off the roll. They had gone to his house after school to work on more campaign stuff. The first thing he’d done was print out one hundred flyers to paste around the school in the morning (he’d had to promise his mother he’d replace the printer ink using his allowance), that way everywhere a student looked, they would be reminded of him. Maybe if he was ubiquitous enough, he could worm himself into their brains and subconsciously affect their voting opinion, the same way cereal commercials subtly inclined you to pick up a box of Raisin Bran at the supermarket, even though Raisin Bran was, in Renjun’s opinion, the most useless cereal. It was the same principle, but Renjun liked to think he was much more desirable than a bowl of tasteless brown flakes and wrinkly grapes.

Now, they were making another big display, which he thought he might set up right in the school’s main lobby in the morning so that everyone who entered the building would have to pass it. Renjun had cut the block letters out of the shiniest wrapping paper he could find in the back of the hallway closet, and now they were sticking them to his trifold to spell “VOTE RENJUN FOR SENIOR CLASS PRESIDENT,” except it was taking way longer than anticipated — they were only up to the first T. This was in part because Renjun’s trustiest tape dispenser was finally beginning to lose its sharpness, and also in part because he found he couldn’t really put his heart into it after Jeno had blown him off.

“I wasn’t being any more overbearing than usual,” Renjun insisted. “Why’s it okay for him to tease me all week over the campaign, but when I try to tease him back, he gets all sensitive?”

“This is going to sound mean, and I don’t intend it to be,” Yoorim prefaced as she adjusted the straightness of the E, “but the world doesn’t revolve around you, Renjun. It’s entirely possible he was in a bad mood because of something else. Maybe he was just snippy with you because you were bothering him when he was upset about something personal.”

Renjun pursed his lips. He had to admit that he didn’t much think about Jeno outside of their little games. It was strange to acknowledge him having a personal life and friends and family, because the Jeno that Renjun saw was just the annoying number two who never gave him a break. Now that Yoorim had pointed it out, he felt a little ashamed at it. So much as he prided himself on his professionalism and charisma, he sure could lack tact sometimes.

“You know,” Yoorim said lightly, “you could always just ask him what the matter is.”

“Yoorim, we’re going through the biggest battle of our lives.” He smacked a hand against the trifold. “I don’t have time to be sappy and apologetic. He’s my sworn enemy. Did you forget that?”

“Even sworn enemies can use a little sympathy, sometimes.”

Renjun rolled his eyes and went to snap another piece of tape. It rubbed uselessly against the dull blade, and Renjun resorted to cutting it with his teeth.

“Remember how that kid said he was gonna write in Spongebob Squarepants?” Yoorim asked.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“It occurred to me that you and Spongebob have something in common.” She took the piece of tape from him, began affixing the next letter, and said, “You’re both squares.”

Renjun shoved her over with his socked foot. Her giggle was muffled against the carpet.

—

Renjun stood in the lobby near his sign. Beside him, Yoorim’s arms were filled with flyers, which he was pasting on the lobby wall in the shape of the letters “VOTE.” The buses were still dropping students off outside, and they milled in through the front doors, most of them still sleepy-eyed and dragging their feet. A couple pointed at his sign, whispering to each other and exchanging what Renjun liked to think were impressed expressions.

He kept his eyes on the door, waiting. At 7:38, Jeno walked in with Jaemin beside him. He gave Renjun’s sign a cursory glance, but kept walking. Renjun waved one of his flyers in Jeno’s direction. Jeno looked down at the floor instead, then turned the corner into the east wing.

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He suddenly didn’t feel like posting anymore flyers.

“You know,” Yoorim said. “You can just admit that your life is way more boring without Jeno teasing you. It’s obvious that you miss it.”

“Is not,” Renjun countered. He slapped another flyer on the wall with so much force that he crinkled the paper.

Yoorim simply gave him her trademark judgemental stare. Yoorim had always been considered a “cool girl” by their peers, and this was one of the reasons. Whenever she stared at someone, tossed her long black hair behind her shoulder, then crossed her arms, it was enough to give them chills. Renjun was used to it by now, so he was slightly more resistant to its power. He felt more like a child being scolded by a parent. He sighed, handed her his supplies, then headed towards the east wing as if he was being marched to an early bedtime.

Jeno and Jaemin stood at their lockers. They seemed to be talking quietly, heads close together. Jaemin put a hand on Jeno’s shoulder. Jeno turned away from Renjun’s line of sight, making his face unreadable, before walking away towards his homeroom. Jaemin lingered behind, shutting his locker, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

Na Jaemin Fun Fact: Like Jeno, he was also on the school’s basketball team. The two had been friends their whole lives, and could usually be found together in the halls, on the court, or at home, where they were next-door neighbors.

Renjun knew little else about Jaemin, because he rarely spoke to him. They’d exchanged a couple snarky words on occasions where Jeno and Renjun were hashing it out, through which Renjun had decided Jaemin was the louder, wilder one — compared to Jeno’s mild grin, Jaemin’s toothy smile took up about half his face and was usually accompanied by a cackle. They’d also been paired up on a partner project during World History their freshman year, which had gone easily enough since Renjun had insisted Jaemin let him do most of the work. Jaemin had tried to argue at first, then realized Renjun was not someone who could be argued with, so he’d sat back through the rest of it and allowed Renjun to create a model of the Great Wall of China entirely from sugar cubes. Jaemin’s measly job had been to type up a description and paste it to the bottom of their cardboard base.

So Renjun did not have much of an opinion on Jaemin, aside from the fact that he jock-y and popular just like his best friend, which meant Renjun held a natural distrust. He shuffled up to Jaemin and stopped a few feet away, maintaining his distance as he said, “Hey.”

Jaemin looked at him curiously, as though Renjun was the last person he expected to see calling after him. “Hey, Renjun. What’s up?”

Renjun pointed vaguely in the direction Jeno had left for. “It’s Jeno… what’s up with him lately?”

The corner of Jaemin’s lip quirked. “Are you worried about him?”

Renjun’s mouth moved to say _no_ , as it was always his first impulse to pretend he didn’t care about Jeno. He was so consumed by his need to be number one that he sometimes forgot something about himself, which was that he was a nice boy at his core; it didn’t take much to make him tender-hearted and concerned and intent to fix whatever was the matter. Wasn’t that why he’d gone after the class president spot in the first place? Because he cared so much about his school and his classmates? Hadn’t his mother reminded him of this just the week prior?

“Yes,” Renjun finally said. “Is he okay?”

Jaemin seemed surprised by this. The smirk fell away, and he said, “Alright. If I tell you, you’ve gotta know it’s private, okay? No spreading it around.”

“Of course not.”

Jaemin beckoned Renjun closer, so he could whisper, “He found out the night before last that his parents are splitting up. So he’s pretty down about it.”

“Oh,” Renjun said. He remembered Jeno sitting at his desk, staring at nothing as if he was barely aware of the classroom around him. He winced, thinking of how he’d taunted him and rubbed his meaningless win in Jeno’s face.

“So yeah. If he’s not as talkative as usual, that’s probably why. I’d give him a break for a few days.”

Renjun nodded. He turned and began to walk back towards the lobby, so struck and dazed by the information he nearly forgot to toss Jaemin a “thank you” over his shoulder.

—

Renjun spent his study hall in the library. The library was one of his very favorite places in the whole school. His first two years he had been a library assistant, who came in during his free periods to help replace returned books and set up displays on the front tables. Unfortunately, his plate was too full after that to continue it; but he still liked to come there in his free time and enjoy the quiet, or if he was not in the mood for quiet, to chat with the school’s librarian, Mr. Choi.

Right then, he was doing neither of those things. Even though he felt sorry for Jeno, it didn’t mean he could stop his campaign. Jeno was a danger to his victory whether he was trying to be or not. So Renjun was taking down every book on the shelves, in order, and slipping a mini-flyer inside the front cover. That way, anyone who checked a book out would get one. It was sneaky campaigning, but these were serious times, so Renjun embraced it.

There was a thud on the wood of the shelf beside him. Renjun looked up to see Mr. Choi standing there, having just set a book back in its slot, and resting his other hand on his hip. “What exactly are you doing, Renjun?”

“Nothing,” Renjun said lightly, snapping his book shut.

“I can see that you’re putting flyers in all my books. You could have at least asked permission first, you know.”

Mr. Choi was in his early forties, wore thick-rimmed rectangular glasses, and was willowy-bodied. Renjun liked him quite a lot, except when he was being sassy, because he had a very incisive sort of sass that always cut right through Renjun’s prideful exterior.

“I figured you would say no,” Renjun muttered in response.

“Maybe not. I’d like to see you be class president again. I know how much work you put into it.” Mr. Choi took the book out of Renjun’s hand and gently thumped it on the boy’s head. “You look miserable. What’s rattling around inside that brain of yours?”

Renjun gave an exaggerated sigh (the only kind of sigh he was capable of producing) and leaned back on the shelf behind him. “The campaign got way less fun all of a sudden. And I think it’s my fault.”

“Oh?” Mr. Choi set the book down and turned his full attention to Renjun. That was one of his qualities Renjun always appreciated — he was a great listener. “Why’s that?”

“I was so giddy to grind my opponent into the dirt like I always do,” Renjun explained, tracing his fingers along the dusty edge of the shelf, “but now I feel bad about it. It’s not as fun if your opponent doesn’t _deserve_ a humiliating defeat.”

“You mean, it’s not as fun once you start to see your opponent as a three-dimensional human and not as a super-villain?” Mr. Choi noticed Renjun’s embarrassed, call-out induced blush, and added, “Who’s the opponent this year, anyway?”

“Lee Jeno.”

“Ah. He’s a nice boy.”

“Everyone says that,” Renjun groaned, “but he’s always teasing me. And I thought beating him would be the ultimate way to get back at him.”

“Teasing you?” Mr. Choi cocked his head. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know.” Renjun tapped a heel of his star-printed Converse back against the lowest shelf. “Poking fun at my clothes and my campaign, and always competing with me to see who can get the better grade and boasting when he wins. He does all this little stuff to get me worked up. I think he likes driving me crazy.”

Mr. Choi smiled, though Renjun wasn’t sure at what. “I see. You should definitely go a little easier on him, then. I think he might appreciate you showing him a little sweetness.”

“Maybe.” Renjun fiddled shlyly with his sleeves. “He’s having a hard time right now. I want to try being nicer to him. Even just for a little bit.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Mr. Choi collected Renjun’s mini-flyers, where he had left them by the books, put them in Renjun’s hands, and announced, “I am banning you from my library, effective until the end of this period. I suggest you use that time to hunt Jeno down and make your amends. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

“Now get lost.” Mr. Choi pointed a finger at the door, still smiling. Renjun smiled back, and scurried out of the library.

—

Jeno was in study hall, too, laying with his head on his arms. He looked just the same as he had in French class the other day, like the light had been smudged out inside of him. Renjun approached his desk slowly, sidling up with a sheepish expression.

“Jeno,” he said.

Jeno raised his head, eyes wide. Renjun did not often approach him outside of class. He considered it a professional boundary of sorts — what kind of serious competitors chit-chatted outside of the ring? — but broke that boundary now, looking down at Jeno with his hands behind his back.

“What is it?” Jeno asked.

Renjun swallowed his pride. “I just wanted to say that when I was messing with you during French class — that wasn’t very nice of me. I shouldn’t let all the games go to my head. I should be more responsible than that.” Earnestly, he added, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Renjun.” Jeno sat up tall in his chair, seeming surprised at Renjun’s sincerity. “You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You were just joking like we always do.”

Renjun shook his head. Now that he’d gotten the apology out, he had to own it. “Either way, I should be more considerate. I get so wrapped up in trying to be the best, that I forget what other people might be feeling like. It’s like I have blinders on, like a racehorse. So from now on, I’m going to try and be more aware of that stuff. Okay?”

Jeno smiled. “Okay.”

That smile was like a weight off Renjun’s shoulders. He took a hand from behind his back, revealing the root beer lollipop he’d won. He set it in the pencil tray of Jeno’s desk.

Jeno took it, turning its white stick over between his fingers before tugging the wrapper off and putting it in his mouth. Satisfied at this, Renjun turned to walk away, and as he did, Jeno called to him, the playful edge finally returning to his voice, “Don’t start going easy on me now because of this, got it? I want this campaign to be a fair fight. Which means you’ve gotta be firing on all cylinders.”

Renjun paused in the doorway. He felt a little tugging in his chest, and it held him there in place, looking back at Jeno with a sudden, unexpected feeling of friendliness. “Then you’d better watch out. Starting tomorrow, I’m pulling out all the stops. Think you can handle it?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Renjun walked out of the classroom, smiling to himself, already planning his next big move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was minor confusion over how i'd chosen to romanize yoorim's name last chapter, so i've adjusted it lmao
> 
> anyway hope u like this one!! and feel free as always to reach out on social media!!! can't wait to read ur comments!! muah
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	3. Elections

Renjun walked into homeroom with gusto, dropping his bag to the floor and slamming his planner down at the front of Yoorim’s desk. “I have an idea.”

“Good morning to you, too,” she said.

He leaned in closer, whispering so that none of their classmates would hear. “Just listen. I was thinking last night, and I had an epiphany. What group of people are the most likely to give Jeno their vote?”

Yoorim shrugged. “I don’t know. His friends?”

“Close.” Renjun tugged a paper out of his planner and unfolded it in front of her. On it was a list of names, including Jeno’s, which was crossed out. “These are all the members of the school’s basketball team. There are seventeen of them, nine of whom are seniors, which maybe doesn’t sound like a lot, but it might be the difference between winning and losing for me.”

“Oh.” Yoorim took the paper and looked it over, seeming impressed at Renjun’s research. “Is the plan to win them over? Because that’s one of your best ideas this semester.”

“Exactly. If I can find a way to flip them to my side, I think that should guarantee me the win. Of course, they’re going to be biased towards Jeno, so it might be tough.”

“Right.” She rubbed her chin contemplatively. “What did you have in mind?”

What Renjun had in mind was to face them on their homecourt. It was the last Monday before the elections, which were on Thursday, and then the officer announcements would be Friday afternoon at the end of the day. Renjun was running out of time and still not convinced he had the win in his pocket. After Renjun’s apology, Jeno had started to perk back up a bit, which also meant he’d started to put more effort into his campaign. He’d even made a flyer, which was just the sign from his booth with the mix of Arial and blue pen scrawl, and stuck it right in the middle of Renjun’s big display in the main lobby. Renjun had been half-irritated, half-excited to have his competition back.

But if Jeno was starting to take it more seriously, then Renjun could not sit back and relax. He would have to be on the offensive. He decided that after school that day, when the basketball team met in the gym for practice, he would pop in and ask for their votes. Jeno would be there, but Renjun thought that might be better anyway — maybe they could even have a mini-debate right there in front of the team, and Renjun would have the opportunity to show off his excellent oratory skills. There was no way they couldn’t vote for him after _that_.

“Plus,” Renjun added, “I have a secret weapon.”

“What is it?”

He tapped a finger to the list, next to the name at the very bottom. “Zhong Chenle.”

“Oh, I see,” Yoorim said seriously. “What exactly is your plan, then?”

Renjun raised a finger in front of Yoorim’s nose. She looked at it cross-eyed. “It starts with you.”

—

At precisely two-thirty, Renjun slid in the sidedoor of the gym. Most of the basketball team had already assembled inside, wearing their practice shorts and tees. The air was filled with the sound of idle dribbling as they waited. A few boys were stretching along the stacked bleachers. One, a cheeky-looking boy with dyed yellowy-blond hair — Zhong Chenle — met Renjun’s eyes from across the room and flashed him the subtlest of hand gestures, a secret hand signal which Renjun recognized as _all good on my end._

A second later, Yoorim was running up behind Renjun from down the hall. She tapped his shoulder and said, “Okay, we’re all set.”

“Perfect.” Renjun checked to make sure that his lensless glasses were straight and his shirt flatteringly tucked in, then strode all the way into the gymnasium, rainbow checkered Vans squeaking on the laminated floor. The basketball team members looked up at him curiously, catching the dribbling balls so it was quiet.

Jeno, who stood beneath one of the nets, held his ball at his hip. The corner of his lips tugged upwards. “What’s up?” he asked.

Renjun addressed the entire room, rather than just Jeno. “Well, as some of you may know, I’m running for senior class president this year. I thought I’d touch base with the basketball team today and see where your guys’s heads are at. And see if any of you would be willing to give me your vote.”

A lanky boy raised his hand. “Where’s Coach?”

“Must be running late,” Renjun said lightly.

Renjun knew full well where the coach was. He’d asked Yoorim to stop the coach outside his office just before practice started, and tell him that the dean was asking to speak with him right away. The dean’s office was on the opposite side of the school. Renjun figured he had a solid fifteen minutes before the coach returned, once he realized that he’d been given faulty info.

“Isn’t Jeno running for president, too?” another boy asked.

“Yes,” Jeno said.

“Well, then my vote’s already taken.”

“Wait —” Renjun shouted, before he could be summarily dismissed. “You give away your vote that easy? Shouldn’t you at least consider all your options?” He hopped up onto the lowest bleacher, making it his pedestal. “What if we had a debate? Right now, before practice. Then you could choose based on _facts_ , rather than who happens to be your friend.”

Chenle cupped a hand around his mouth and said, “You know, this guy seems pretty reasonable to me. I think we should all listen to what he has to say.”

“Thank you,” Renjun said with a wink. “So, Jeno, why don’t you come up here —”

“Nah, I think we’re just gonna keep doing warm-ups. Seeing as this is basketball club.” He pointed up at the net. “Unless, of course, you were interested in joining.”

Renjun hoffed dismissively. “No thanks.”

“Well, since you were the one to interrupt _our_ practice —” There was a glimmer in Jeno’s eyes, like he’d attached himself to a shiny little idea. “Then you ought to play by our rules. Scrap the debate. Let’s do tosses instead. Winner takes all.”

Renjun paled. He swallowed, and it felt like trying to down a piece of very dry bread. “I, uh… I’m not really much of a player.”

The other boys on the team seemed to catch Jeno’s drift. “Yeah,” Jaemin said, approaching Jeno and leaning an elbow on his shoulder. “Let’s have a little duel on the court. If you win, Renjun, I promise to give you my vote.”

There was a murmur of assent throughout the gym.

Renjun turned his head robotically in Yoorim’s direction. “What am I supposed to do?” he whispered.

She shrugged. “I mean, they’re kind of right. We _are_ on their court.”

When Renjun turned back, Jeno was beckoning him over with his index finger.

Renjun shuffled as slowly as possible towards the center circle, the toes of his Vans dragging with a screech. There was no way. He wasn’t even dressed properly for basketball, and Jeno was one of the best players on the team. It was a complete annihilation in the making.

“What’s the game?” Renjun asked, hoping no one could hear the waver in his voice.

“I shoot, then you. You just have to make baskets from wherever I shoot from.” Jeno walked to meet Renjun at the center circle. He placed the basketball in his hands. “Scratch that. I’ll let you choose the spot, since you’re the guest. Where’s the first throw gonna be?”

Renjun took a tentative step towards the free-throw line, walking its edge. He had no idea what the best angle was. _Maybe as close to the basket as possible,_ Renjun thought, but then he got there and realized he had to crane his neck to look up, and the basket was almost impossibly high on the wall. There was no way he could make it from there.

 _Damn you, Lee Jeno,_ he hissed internally. _Choosing a sport for tall people. Exploiting my only shortcoming._

At a loss, Renjun scanned the line players for Chenle. The boy had been trying to get his attention, standing on his toes and wiggling the fingers of one hand. When Renjun met his eye, Chenle made an X with his arms and mouthed, _No good._

 _What am I supposed to do?_ Renjun wanted to scream back. He shrugged desperately instead. Even if he made his first basket, there was absolutely no way he could sustain his lead against Jeno.

“Wait,” he said, as a last ditch effort. “What if — what if I make a half-court toss?”

He could see Yoorim smack an exasperated palm to her forehead in his peripheral.

Jeno laughed in skeptical amazement. “If you make a half-court toss, I’ll straight up give you the win. And I’ll personally make sure every guy on the team votes your name on the ballot.”

Renjun nodded gravely. It would be all dumb luck, but it was his best move. He returned to the center of the court and faced the net. How far away was it? Fifty feet or so? He’d seen people do this on TV before. Did they throw it underhand, or overhand? If he threw it underhand, would Jeno mock him for his clear lack of technique? Was it worth it, if it made it through?

“Can I — can I do a practice shot?” Renjun asked.

“Quit stalling,” called one of the boys on the team. About half of them had sat down on the floor, playing on their phones, waiting for something to happen. A couple underclassmen had even grabbed their stuff and left.

“No,” Jeno said. “No practice shot.”

“Can I phone a friend?”

“This isn’t _Who Wants To Be A Millionaire._ ”

Renjun pouted. “I’m a beginner. I think I should be allowed to have some help.”

Jeno, somehow weakened by this, tilted his head back in a silent groan and said, “Fine, fine. Go on.”

Renjun spun towards the line of team members. “I will choose one of you completely randomly. How about… the blond kid all the way on the end?” He thrust a finger in Chenle’s direction.

Chenle bounded over to the center circle, placed his hands on Renjun’s shoulders to redirect him towards the basket, and took the moment of closeness to whisper to him, “You are making a critical mistake. I’m sorry, boss, but I don’t think I can get you out of this. You should’ve just gone with the original one-on-one.”

“Are you questioning my methods at a moment like this?” Renjun snapped back. “Just tell me how to make this basket.”

“ _I_ can’t even make a half-court throw.”

“Chenle. This is the most direly important moment in your sixteen years of life. Your honor is on the line.” He gripped the basketball between his fingers, holding it perilously in front of Chenle’s face as if it were the boy’s fate. “Tell me. How. To make. This basket.”

Chenle nodded, accepting his burden. “Move your feet apart a little. Yeah, like that. Now put one hand under the ball —”

“This doesn’t seem right. There’s no way I can get it that far.”

“Boss. Would I ever mislead you?”

“Not intentionally.”

“Then just do what I say. And then, when you shoot, you push your arms in a straight line. The ball should follow right through.”

Renjun gulped. “Alright. I — I think I’ve got it.”

Chenle stepped away, back towards the rest of the team. “I believe in you,” he called after Renjun, offering him a slow salute as if he were a soldier going off to war.

Renjun projected all his energy into his fingertips, trying to feel every grain of the ball's rubbery surface. _I am one with the ball,_ he told himself, breathing in, breathing out. This was the moment of truth. The moment where he showed everyone what he was made of. He could imagine it now, the election on Thursday, every member of the basketball team approaching the ballot box to write his name, not because they’d made a bet, but because they’d been so blown away at his hidden talent that they had no choice but to bend and bow to his greatness. And Jeno would be so shamed by the entire experience that he would resign from the basketball team in disgrace, drop out of the presidential race, and live the rest of his days as a humble hermit.

_It all comes down to this._

Renjun bent his knees. Then he flung the ball towards the net, trying to keep his arms in a straight line like Chenle had said. The ball went far, and _fast,_ and for half a second Renjun really believed it would sink right into the net.

The ball struck the net’s rim with such force that it flew backwards at what Renjun estimated to be about one hundred miles an hour, and hit Chenle square in the face.

There was a collective “oof” that filled the gym. Renjun gasped and pressed his hands over his mouth in utter shock. Jeno ran forward first to where Chenle had fallen back onto the floor, while Yoorim, still near the bleachers, announced, “I’ll go get an ice pack,” and headed out the door for the nurse’s office.

Renjun scrambled towards Chenle, shoving Jeno out of his way so he could crouch down and cradle Chenle’s head in his lap. His face was red from the impact, bearing faint outlines of the ball’s stripes, and there was a bit of blood dripping from one nostril.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, brushing Chenle’s blond locks back from his forehead. “I’m so sorry. I —”

Chenle reached up and grabbed Renjun’s hand. “It’s okay, boss. I’ll survive. You don’t need to worry about me. It was a worthwhile sacrifice.”

“Chenle…”

“Was I at least able to prove my honor?” Chenle said, voice so thin it was almost a deathrattle.

“Of course you were, kid.” Renjun squeezed Chenle’s hand. “Of course you were.”

“What kind of historical drama is this?” Jeno remarked.

Yoorim ran back in with a bright blue ice pack. She knelt at Chenle’s other side and handed it to him. “I sure hope your nose isn’t broken,” she said.

“Not even a broken nose can bring me down,” Chenle assured her. He stood up with a wobble, ice pack pressed to his face, and pumped his free fist as if he’d just accomplished some kind of incredible feat. Renjun, and one confused but awestruck freshman from the basketball team, gave him a polite round of applause.

Just then, the coach burst in the door. “Hey,” he said, out of breath, as though he’d run all the way back from the dean’s office. “I’m sorry I’m so late, I was on this wild goose chase —” He took in the sight at the center of the gym. “What’s happening? Where is everyone?”

“A few people got their things and left,” Jeno reported flatly. “Also, Chenle got hurt.”

“Jeez.” The coach ran a hand over his balding head. “What am I supposed to do with this? Is Chenle alright?”

“He seems fine.” Jeno glanced at Chenle, who was telling all his teammates to feel his nose and informing them that it didn’t even hurt at all, despite the way he was clearly wincing at every touch.

The coach checked his watch. “Well. We’ve lost a lot of time. And if we’re missing a bunch of you anyway…” He sighed. “I guess we’ll just call it a day. You can all go home, if you want. Or hang out here until the late bus arrives.”

Half the team members who had bothered to hang around during the entire ordeal disappointedly slumped against the padded gym wall, and the other half began to halfheartedly practice on their own, playing little matches as they waited for the buses. Chenle, seemingly fully revived despite the smear of blood above his top lip, returned to Renjun’s side and said, “Well, even if you didn’t get the basket, I thought you looked really cool, Renjun. We should’ve taken a video of it or something. We could have cut out the part where I got smacked.”

“You’re right,” Renjun agreed. “Maybe we could’ve edited it to look like I made the basket. Then we could have put it into a campaign ad. _Vote for Huang Renjun, for an All-Star Class President. This year, it’ll be nothin’ but net.”_

“Wow, boss,” Chenle cried adoringly. “You’re so smart.”

Jeno, who had been shooting baskets with Jaemin, approached and asked, “Are you two friends or something?”

“Friends?” Renjun placed a sassy hand on his hip. “He’s not my _friend_. He’s my _disciple._ ”

“Yeah,” Chenle said in an exact match to Renjun’s tone, also placing a hand on his hip. “He’s the boss. He taught me everything I know.”

“Oh my god,” Jeno whispered incredulously. “They’re the same. There’s _two_ of him.”

One year ago, Chenle had watched Renjun’s sweeping victory in the class president polls, and had come to him the next day to beg him to teach him his ways. Renjun had agreed to take Chenle on as his apprentice, and over the course of the year, had molded him into what he believed was the ideal student leader. Now, this time around, Chenle was running for sophomore class president, using all the knowledge he’d been bestowed to run a cutthroat and effective campaign. Renjun considered his mentorship of Chenle to be one of his greatest achievements.

Chenle’s phone dinged in his pocket. “Oh —” he said. “It’s my mom. I gotta get going. See you, boss.”

“Don’t tell her I did that,” Renjun warned him, pointing towards his bloodied nose. “She might not let you hang out with me anymore.”

Chenle flashed him a thumbs up and ran out the door.

They still had another half hour to kill. To Renjun’s surprise, Jeno led him back towards the basket, bringing him to the edge of the freethrow line and giving him the ball. “I’ll teach you how to actually make a basket,” he said. “It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Oh.” Renjun gave him a suspicious look, but allowed it. Just in case he was ever challenged to another basketball-themed duel and needed to know how to win. “You just make your arms straight, right?” He mimicked the way Chenle had shown him.

“Well, yeah, but your hands are in the wrong spots.” Jeno stepped behind Renjun, so his chest was nearly touching Renjun’s back. He placed his hands over top of Renjun’s and slid them into the right positions, one towards the base of the ball, one towards the side. He did it slowly, carefully, like he was thinking something over.

“Your hands are small,” he mused quietly, as if he was talking to himself.

Renjun broke away from him, eyes narrowed. “They are _not_. What, are you gonna turn hand size into a competition, too?”

“No,” Jeno said. He was smiling — not a smirk, just a subtle smile — but then seemed embarrassed of it, and hid the smile away. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Like I was saying. You hold it like that, then you bend your knees and push off a little to give you some momentum. Your arms go straight, and your wrists kind of flick.”

“Okay.” Renjun gave it a try. The ball flew up in an arc. It hit the rim again, but this time it dribbled against it once before falling over and into the net.

“I did it,” Renjun said, wide-eyed. “It went in.”

“Nice job, Huang.” Jeno gave him a high-five. It lingered just long enough that the lingering was noticeable. Jeno’s hands _were_ bigger than his, Renjun thought, but he decided that it was because Jeno’s were extra large, rather than because his own were small. “Bring that same energy to the polls tomorrow, huh?” He gave Renjun a friendly thump on the back, and walked away.

Renjun stood still, staring at the ball where it rolled gently along the floor under the net, and felt strangely as though his failed plan had been worth it anyway.

He went back to the bleachers to grab his backpack. Yoorim was still leaning against them, along with Jaemin, who was talking to her between sips of his water bottle.

“ _Hey.”_ Renjun tugged Yoorim’s elbow. “Fraternizing with the enemy, I see.”

Yoorim raised a brow. “Yeah? Then what do you call what just happened over there?” She tilted her head towards the net, and Renjun realized she and Jaemin had been observing the whole thing.

Renjun’s face lit up pink in a blush. He yanked on his backpack and started marching towards the exit, Yoorim trailing behind him with a gentle laugh.

—

It was the final day. Elections were last period, at 1:30 in the cafeteria. Renjun had only six hours left to campaign.

The pressure was beginning to get to him. He didn’t win over the basketball team, which meant Jeno was still a serious threat to him. Even if Jeno didn’t mean to win, it didn’t mean people wouldn’t vote for him. It was possible that he might slide by on pure likeability alone. Renjun had recently come to terms with the fact that some people did not consider him likeable, which he considered a crime and a conspiracy, and was preparing himself for the worst possible outcome.

“You will be just fine,” Yoorim assured him, as they sat again at Renjun’s booth. He’d set it up right in the front lobby that morning, purposefully placed at its very center so that students could not go to their lockers without having to maneuver around the ends of his table. His slogan that day was, “You state a problem, I’ll find a solution,” which meant that every senior who approached his booth with a student government suggestion had it written on a very large whiteboard which Renjun had carted into the lobby from the supply room. Each suggestion written down came with the guarantee that he would do his best to address it during the course of the school year. After the first rush of students had passed through, he had about twenty bullet points, including “expand the library’s e-book catalogue” and “have a pancake breakfast fundraiser.” After the election, the whiteboard would be moved to the student government meeting room, and he would use it as his idea list once they began pursuing projects.

This all rode on the assumption that he would win.

Renjun rested his forehead against the top of his table.

“Aw, don’t get down,” Yoorim said, patting him gently on the shoulder. “I know this means a lot to you. But even if you lost — which there’s no chance you will — it’s not like V.P. is _totally_ useless. You could still get a lot done. And I’ll be on the student council to back you up.”

“I know,” Renjun groaned, voice muffled by the tablecloth. “But V.P. gets no recognition. Hardly anyone seems to care about the student council as is. If I don’t get the president spot, I’ll be a nobody.” _While Jeno gets all the praise,_ he added silently to himself.

“If nobody can recognize your hard work, then that’s their loss,” Yoorim responded firmly. “I know it sucks to work a thankless job. But I think it’s more important that _you_ know you’re putting in a ton of work for a good cause, rather than everyone else knowing it. In ten years, you’ll cash that karma in for a nice job, and everyone else will wish they’d treated you a little nicer. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Renjun smiled a little. “Yeah.”

“I bet you are currently imagining a hundred ways in which Jeno could be struck down by karmic justice.”

“Maybe.”

“To be honest, I think Jeno already recognizes your hard work.”

Renjun was about to respond, but the bell rang. Five minutes to scramble to homeroom. They began to dismantle their set-up, leaving the conversation unfinished, though Renjun found he could not stop thinking about it for a long time.

—

At the exact moment his final class ended, Renjun ran to the cafeteria for the election. He always liked to try and be the very first person in line. He had yet to succeed in his past three years; on this occasion, he was cursed with his AP Government class being on the second-floor, so the stairs were a considerable obstacle. Yoorim ran with him, but she was wearing short heels that day, so Renjun sprinted ahead of her, feeling just a little bit sorry, but unwilling to let her slow him down. By the time he arrived, there were already short lines assembled at each of the four booths. He fell into place at the end of the seniors’ line, anxiously bouncing on his feet.

Yoorim got there about twenty seconds later, leaning against the wall and clutching her chest as she fought for breath. “You couldn’t have waited for me, asshole?”

“You’re the one wearing heels.” He pointed down at his gym sneakers. “I came prepared today. I sacrificed fashion for speed.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She pushed her hair back from her face, trying to comb it back into ruliness. “I still love you, though.”

“You’d better. I’m counting on your vote.”

The line moved ahead of them. Renjun gulped. Trying to distract himself from his nerves, he peered around the cafeteria. He could see Chenle in line at the sophomore station, who waved at him overenthusiastically. Beyond that, at the freshman line, Jisung was glancing shyly around, almost in awe of the voting set-up. Someone in line ahead of him yawned noisily, and he jumped. Renjun stifled a laugh.

He turned back to look at his own line, trying to guess who each person behind him would be casting their vote for to determine his odds. _Pretty good,_ he thought. _A few of these people stopped at my booth this morning, and —_

Jeno walked in the door and got into line.

Renjun furrowed his brows, and forced himself to stare straight ahead towards the voting station.

Finally, it was his turn. He stepped in and picked up the ballot paper. Under _treasurer_ and _secretary,_ Donghyuck and Yoorim’s names were listed, but the bubbles were already filled in by the printer. There was no spot for vice president, simply his and Jeno’s name below _president._

Just as he did every year, he penciled in the bubble beside his own name, and slipped it into the ballot box.

After Yoorim had voted, too, they went to go sit in the library and kill the final minutes of the school day. It was quiet as always, with only a couple of students dotting the tables around them. Mr. Choi was behind the desk, sipping on a cup of tea and reading a book.

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way,” Renjun began, softly, so as not to be scolded, “but you _did_ vote for me, right?”

Yoorim rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I have a deathwish? Of course I voted for you.”

“I just wanted to be sure.”

“What, did you think I was a plant? A double-agent? Did you think Lee Jeno told me six years ago to befriend you, for the sole purpose of having me turn on you at the last moment and cross over to his side instead?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

As if the mere mentioning of his name had summoned him, Jeno walked into the library and over to Renjun and Yoorim’s table. He seemed very pleased with himself, which Renjun took immediate umbrage with. “So it’s all over,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Renjun answered, pursing his lips. “How about you? Must be nice, getting to vote for yourself for the first time. I was psyched my freshman year.”

“I didn’t vote for myself. I voted for you.”

Renjun’s lips un-pursed as his jaw dropped. “What do you mean?” he asked, high-voiced. “Are you dumb? You know you can vote for yourself, right?”

“Of course I know.” Jeno grinned. “I told you I wasn’t planning on winning, remember? Why would I vote for myself when I don’t want to win?”

 _I fully intend to get the vice president spot,_ Jeno had told him before. _I thought it would be more fun to run for president and get you all worked up._

Renjun blushed. So Jeno _had_ been serious about wanting to be V.P., after all. All that crazy campaigning and confrontation, for nothing. He felt silly. He’d played right into Jeno’s trap.

“Anyway,” Jeno said. “Results tomorrow. So I guess we’ll find out the final tally, then.”

“Yeah,” Renjun agreed. “Tomorrow.”

Jeno walked away, heading between the library stacks.

“I told you you were worrying for nothing,” Yoorim reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Renjun folded his arms on the table, resting his head on top, and pictured Jeno as he walked into the booth, marked Renjun’s name, and submitted it.

_To be honest, I think Jeno already recognizes your hard work._

Renjun decided that he needed to listen to Yoorim more. As it turned out, she was usually right.

—

It was not entirely clear to Renjun why the school made them wait a full twenty-four hours to hear the results. Did it really take that long to count the ballots? Couldn’t they acquire a few bored freshmen and lock them in a room with the ballot box until it was taken care of? At the very least, Renjun was less nervous than he’d expected to be. He managed to go a record thirty minutes that day without thinking about the election.

Two-fifteen was nearly upon them. The AP Gov teacher was droning on, but Renjun was not listening. Instead, he was staring intently at the clock on the wall, willing the minute hand forward.

The intercom buzzed.

“Hello everyone. We have the results for the class elections for this year. Here is the list of winners.”

Yoorim reached across her desk and squeezed Renjun’s hand. They started with the freshman class first, and worked their way up. He felt a little thrill as Chenle was announced as the sophomore class president. Even if he lost the election, at least he had something to be proud of — his protege, following in his footsteps.

They got to the senior class.

“Treasurer, Lee Donghyuck. Secretary, Heo Yoorim.”

Renjun squeezed Yoorim’s hand back, so hard it must have hurt, but she didn’t make a noise.

“Vice president, Lee Jeno. President, Huang Renjun.”

He slumped back in his chair, feeling like his soul had left his body, but in a good way. He was light as air. Every doubt he’d had dissipated like steam. Yoorim threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

The bell rang. A couple of the other kids offered him congratulations as they filed out between the desks. One of them was Jeno, who nudged Renjun’s chair with his toe.

“Hey,” he said. “Nice job.”

“Thank you,” Renjun replied sincerely, too happy to be his usual competitive self. He had the vague impulse to rub his win in Jeno’s face, but refrained.

“First meeting is Monday after school, right?”

“Right.”

“Sounds good.” Jeno walked to the door, looking perfectly pleased, as if he’d been the one to win. “Then I’ll see you there, Mr. Class President.”

“Sure thing, V.P.,” Renjun said quietly, but Jeno was already gone, having slipped away into the end-of-the-day rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	4. Car Wash

The first student council meeting of the semester was after school on Monday. Renjun had been so excited for it that he’d been unable to stop tapping his foot during ninth period. Yoorim had had told him it was distracting her, so he’d tried to tone it down to just a gentle patter, but apparently it was still too loud because she’d punched him in the thigh and he’d gasped so loudly at the betrayal that the AP Gov teacher had shushed him right there in front of the whole class. Renjun _never_ got shushed. He gave her the cold shoulder on the walk to the meeting room.

The meeting room was one of the disused classrooms in the east wing. It was nice that they had a space of their own (not _entirely_ their own, since the lower grade level councils used it on other weekdays, but _hey_ , it was better than nothing), though the school had not been generous enough to give them a proper meeting table. Instead they had four richly graffitied desks which had been pushed together into a square. They also had the big whiteboard which Renjun had taken his ideas down on. Now it sat against the wall, his own personal well of inspiration to draw from.

Just as he and Yoorim walked in, Jeno arrived, too, standing in the doorway behind them. “Hey,” he said. “Excited?”

“Of course I am,” Renjun responded lightly. “Excited to get some work done.” He strode to his chair, at the desk where a rectangular name tag sticker bore the words “CLASS PRESIDENT” in the corner.

Yoorim and Jeno followed him over. Out of habit, Yoorim made her way towards the desk at Renjun’s right; but Jeno swooped in quicker, claiming it.

“Hey.” Renjun objected. “That’s Yoorim’s spot.”

“It says _vice president_ ,” Jeno explained, pointing to his own sticker. “Am I not the vice president?”

Renjun inwardly cursed Yoorim for the hundredth time. She just _had_ to give up the V.P. position. He crossed his arms and sulked in his chair.

“I’m surprised you even want to sit next to me after giving me the silent treatment all the way down here,” she said.

Renjun sighed and let his anger go. There was an enemy in their midst now. He could not banish his closest ally. “No matter how you hurt me, I always come crawling back.” He brightened a little and patted the desk across from his. “Sit here, Yoorim. That way I can stare directly into your beautiful eyes the whole meeting.”

Jeno froze beside him, like he was about to say something, but then Mrs. Jang walked in, balancing the largest mug of coffee Renjun had ever seen in one hand, and her clipboard in the other. “Hey guys. Ready for your first meeting?” She noticed the empty fourth desk. “Where is Donghyuck?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Jeno said.

‘Well, he’d better get here soon. If he’s late to all our meetings, that’s going to be a problem.” She glanced at the clock. “I guess we’ll just start without him. So. Our goal for this year is to fundraise as much as we can. That way, events like prom and the senior trip will be affordable for the whole senior class. It looks like we’ve already got some ideas written down.” She walked to the whiteboard and trailed her finger beside the bullet points. “Maybe we should start with something small and easy to arrange, just to get in the swing of things. Any thoughts?”

Renjun’s hand, predictably, flew up. “Mrs. Jang. I’ve already come up with our first fundraiser.”

“Oh?”

“Every year, the senior class does a car wash in the fall.” He opened his binder — one labeled “Student Government” in purple marker and filled with a hundred or so divider tabs — and pulled out a piece of paper. “I went last year, and took some notes on how they ran it. It seems like it should be pretty easy to set up. I have a list of supplies we need. We should be able to get everything together by this weekend.”

Mrs. Jang looked like she might have been impressed by this, if she wasn’t prematurely exhausted at the thought of organizing it. She took a big gulp of her coffee. “You’re right. The seniors do a car wash every year. I guess that’s a reliable place to start.”

Renjun slid his piece of paper to the convergence point of the four desks. “Obviously we’ll need some soap and buckets and sponges and stuff. Then we’ll need some volunteers to help us, and some signs to post around town to advertise it. As far as a location goes, I was thinking about the parking lot near the gym. We could divvy it up into lanes so we can have multiple cars come through at once.”

“Wow. You really spent a lot of time on this, huh?” Jeno picked up the paper and read it over. There was even a section with the heading “Potential Car Wash Related Hazards and Appropriate Reactionary Measures.”

“Yeah. All last night compiling my notes, plus an hour this morning designing the page layout.” Renjun tapped the top header of the sheet, where he’d inserted an array of car wash-related clipart and a decorative border that looked like waves. “It was a blast.”

“ _This_ is your idea of fun?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Mrs. Jang interrupted with, “Our starting funds for the senior class this year is fifty dollars. Would that be doable?” Wryly, she added, “I don’t suppose you’ve already written up a budget, have you?”

“I have. And we should be fine. There’s a hose hookup near the gym for the grass sprinklers, so we can steal our water from there. I can run to the store this week and grab the rest of our stuff.” 

The door flew open, and Donghyuck came strolling in, backpack hanging coolly off one shoulder and a Mountain Dew can in the opposite hand. “You started without me?” he asked.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Renjun said.

“Sorry. Junho was selling soda at his locker. There’s a discount if you buy his end-of-the-day stock.”

“That’s against school policy,” Mrs. Jang objected quietly.

Donghyuck ignored her and swung around to his desk. “So what are we talking about?”

“We are going to run a car wash fundraiser,” Yoorim explained.

“Yuck.” Donghyuck seemed to have a moment of reconsideration, like he might jump back out of his chair and book it. “Do we _have_ to do that?”

“Yes,” Renjun said.

“Can’t I sit this one out?”

Mrs. Jang took another long sip of her coffee, and Renjun suspected she was wishing it was something stronger. “No, Donghyuck. If you don’t participate in student council activities, you can’t be treasurer.”

Donghyuck swigged his Mountain Dew, and it suddenly occurred to Renjun that it _could_ be something stronger, knowing the kind of boy Donghyuck was. He snatched it and sniffed it to make sure. Thankfully, it didn’t smell like alcohol, just lukewarm Mountain Dew.

“What the hell, dude?” Donghyuck wrestled for his can, prying Renjun’s fingers back and making the aluminum dent.

Renjun let go, and sunk back into his chair with narrowed eyes. “I don’t trust you,” he hissed.

Sensing the tension, Mrs. Jang clapped her hands together and announced, as if trying to put an early end to their meeting, “So it’s decided. Car wash this Saturday. Renjun will purchase the supplies, and I’ll check my schedule to find a good time. Everyone in agreement?”

Renjun, Yoorim, and Jeno said yes.

Donghyuck muttered, “Whatever.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then. Meeting dismissed.” She grabbed the handle of her coffee and ran out of the room so fast she left some of it on the tile floor, little brown circles dotted like ants.

The four council members sat in silence for a moment, exchanging wary glances.

“Anyone want a ride home?” Donghyuck asked.

The other three pulled on their backpacks and exited without saying a word.

—

After school the next day, Renjun had his car wash posters ready. _West Gardens High Senior Trip Fundraising Car Wash,_ they said. _12 - 4 this Saturday! $5 per customer._ He’d planned out all the places they’d go with them — the grocery store, the library, the post office, the telephone poles downtown — and texted Yoorim and Jeno to let them know where to meet him, on the corner outside the bagel shop.

He did not text Donghyuck this information. He did not fully consider him a student council member, regardless of his stringent respect for the democratic process.

Yoorim arrived first, and Jeno a few minutes later. It was weird to see him outside of school, in the same way it was weird when you ran into a teacher in public — Renjun did not often consider the fact that Jeno continued to exist outside of school hours. He gave him an awkward, cursory nod and shoved a stack of flyers into his hands.

“So,” Jeno said, walking a few paces behind Renjun and Yoorim down the sidewalk. “Are we all set to do this?”

“I bought the supplies yesterday afternoon,” Renjun answered. He didn’t look at Jeno as he said it. Just because they were working together didn’t mean they had to be friends. Renjun preferred to keep it a strictly professional relationship. “I asked the school, and they said we could borrow the canopy tent and a table from the supply shed for our payment booth.”

“You are very on top of things.”

“Of course I am. Did you expect anything less?”

Jeno shrugged and stopped at a telephone pole. He held up one of the flyers and stapled it there.

“It’s crooked,” Renjun said.

“No it isn’t. What are you talking about?”

“It’s tilted higher on the left.”

Jeno laughed incredulously. “No one is possibly going to notice that, and if they do, it’s not like they’ll care.”

“It makes us look careless.” Renjun yanked the flyer down, then restapled it to his straightness standards. “Do it like that.”

“It looks the same.”

“Uh, no it doesn’t. If you’re not going to do it right —”

“The school made a mistake,” Yoorim murmured. “They should have had a rule — ‘Huang Renjun and Lee Jeno may not serve on the student council at the same time.’”

“I agree,” Renjun said. “They should have allowed only me.”

“Well. If all you two are going to do is bicker —” Yoorim took back both their stacks of flyers, and began to count them. “I’ll give you both the exact same amount, and we’ll turn it into a competition. Whoever puts their stack up the fastest wins.”

Renjun scoffed haughtily. “Ha! Easy.”

Jeno leaned over his shoulder, close to his ear, and said, “Think so, Mr. President? I’m a pretty fast runner.”

Renjun covered his ear with a smack, cheeks red, and retorted, “Yeah, but I already mapped out a route! My thorough planning gives me an unbeatable advantage!”

“Whatever, Einstein.” Yoorim gave them their even stacks. “I’ll count to three. Meet me back here for the finish line. Ready?”

Renjun hooked his stapler on his belt loop like a pistol, put the edges of his flyers between his lips, and dropped into a sprinter’s crouch.

Jeno yawned as Yoorim shouted, “One, two, three, go!”

Without looking back, Renjun bolted down the sidewalk. The wind whipped the ends of his flyers up in his face, but he persevered, stopping first at the bulletin outside the supermarket. He snapped his stapler from his belt and punched it into the tackboard. _One, two!_ at the top and the bottom of the paper. He’d practiced his stapling all last night, and it was paying off beautifully.

 _One, two!_ Another flyer slapped up at the post office. He had yet to run into Jeno, which clearly meant he had the lead. It was inevitable — Jeno was an amateur, in over his head. One look at his first-grade level stapling techniques had been enough to confirm it. Renjun laughed to no one in particular and flew back out the post office doors.

He began to lose his breath by the time he put up his fourteenth flyer. He imagined himself in the final leg of a marathon, approaching the cheering crowds on the sideline as he drew closer. It kept him going. Nothing powered him like being rained down upon by fervent approval.

 _Like always,_ he thought, grinning and panting at the same time, _I leave Jeno in the dust. He should have learned his lesson after the presidential race. His hubris will finally be the end of —_

Renjun looped back around the corner and found Yoorim and Jeno sitting on a bench by their starting mark.

“Took you long enough,” Jeno said.

Renjun’s stapler slipped out of his hands and clattered on the concrete. He scrambled to pick it up and gather all the loosened staples.

“No way,” he accused, pointing a finger. “No way. You cheated. I was running so fast —”

“I mean. I’m sitting here, and all my flyers are up. That was the game, right? Seems like I won.”

Renjun balked, mouth hanging unbecomingly open. “Yoorim —” He turned his finger on her. “You’re the referee. There’s no way. _Right?”_

She shrugged. “No one likes a sore loser, Renjun.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend! You can’t be siding with him!” He felt a weird little prickle in his stomach. He wasn’t really sure what it meant. He chalked it up to bitterness at the inherent unfairness of the situation. _There is no justice in this world._

“Well, we got it done, anyway.” Jeno stood from the bench, walked to Renjun, and placed an apologetic hand on his shoulder. “Sucks to lose, huh? I’m sorry I’m so good at beating you, but at least it was for a good cause.”

Renjun wanted to grab Jeno’s hand and use it to smack him across the face, in a childish, belligerently annoying _why are you hitting yourself?_ kind of way. He resisted the urge, thinking it might be considered inappropriate behavior for the class president to engage in.

He shrugged the hand off instead. “Whatever. There’s always —”

The movement jarred Jeno. His jacket lifted, and the pile of flyers fell out from underneath, fluttering to the ground like a storm of feathers.

Yoorim broke into bombastic laughter from the sidelines.

“Oh my god,” Renjun whispered. “You _are_ a cheater.”

Jeno leaned back in a groan, but there was his usual carefree smile on his lips, like he almost enjoyed being caught. “Jeez. I thought it was a foolproof plan.”

“Were you in on this?” Renjun asked Yoorim.

“Sorry,” she said, finally getting up and joining them. She treated it as if it was a huge chore, taking long, lazy steps across the sidewalk. “I thought it would be funny. And I was right.”

Renjun knelt down to help Jeno pick up the lost flyers. He usually wouldn’t have done it, but he was staunchly anti-litter. “You’d better believe all these flyers still have to go up.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. President.”

Renjun handed the pile over, stood, and linked his arm through Yoorim’s. “Anyway. You go do that, and me and Yoorim are gonna go get bubble tea. Meet us there once you’re done, okay?”

“What?” Jeno looked up, the flyers haphazard and crooked in his hands. “You aren’t gonna help me?”

“Of course not. That wasn’t the game, was it?” Renjun turned away, smirking. Yoorim stooped to lean her head on his shoulder, perfectly happy to play both sides.

“ _Hey —_ ”

“Have fun, V.P.!” Renjun called, waving and wiggling his fingers. Then he and Yoorim took off in a jaunty half-skip, sharing a giggle. Jeno sure thought he could be slick, but two could play at that game.

—

On Saturday, Renjun and Yoorim were an hour early to set up. They pulled the canopy tent to the parking lot, which had already been blocked off by a sign reading “CAR WASH CUSTOMERS ONLY,” then brought the folding table out, too. Renjun placed the cashbox on top of it, drumming his fingers eagerly on its metal lid. By the end of the afternoon, they would fill that box. The determination flared inside of him like the lighting of the Olympic flame.

Jeno arrived at eleven-thirty and immediately set to work lining traffic cones into lanes. Even though Renjun hadn’t been thrilled to have Jeno on the student council, he had to admit that he was a reliable worker. It made it harder to be contemptuous towards him, which was its own sort of problem. Renjun really, _really_ wanted to be contemptuous towards him.

“You know,” Yoorim said. “I think we’ve got a decent team. Having Jeno is better than having Gum Chewing Girl, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Renjun agreed, begrudgingly. “Though I think we’ve got our own Gum Chewing Girl equivalent.”

“You mean Donghyuck?”

Renjun took out his phone. He’d texted Donghyuck three times that morning to double-check that he’d be there early, that he knew the right time, that he would be completely prepared. He still hadn’t received a response, and they opened in twenty-five minutes. There was nothing more frustrating than someone who did not take their job seriously. Renjun wished the world could be made up entirely of Renjun-alikes, who operated at his same level at all times.

The other senior volunteers were dropped off. They’d managed to wrangle twelve of them, which meant they had sixteen people total. Renjun had already divided them into four teams to tend each of the four lanes for maximum efficiency. Mrs. Jang had arrived, too, wild-haired as if she was not used to waking up so early on the weekend. She met him under the tent, counting out their change bills and laying them in the bottom of the cashbox. For an early October day, the weather was surprisingly cooperative, sunny and warm and welcoming. Renjun decided there was no use in worrying over the little things. The universe was sending him a sign that everything would be okay.

Then Donghyuck showed up, and Renjun immediately revoked this assessment.

“Hey,” Donghyuck said, exactly one minute before noon. He was wearing a striped polo and a pair of sunglasses, and held a folding chair under his arm. He opened it with a clamor beneath the tent, and dropped down into it.

“What are you doing?” Renjun asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck took out his phone and turned it horizontal, like he was going to play a mobile game. “I’m working the carwash. I figure someone’s gotta run the front desk, right?”

“Yeah. That’s why Mrs. Jang is here.”

Donghyuck nudged his glasses down his nose, staring blankly at Renjun. “You didn’t tell me I would literally have to wash the cars.”

“What did you think we meant by the words ‘car wash?’” Yoorim deadpanned.

Customers were beginning to pull into the lot.

 _Find your zen place,_ Renjun told himself. _Be cool. Do not strangle Donghyuck, even though he deserves it._

“Student council is lane one,” he said. “Let’s go get ready for the first customer, alright?”

Mrs. Jang tapped the back of Donghyuck’s chair with a paperback. “Thank you for the seat,” she said, sweet and needle-sharp at the same time. “Please go help your teammates.”

He got up and shuffled defeatedly towards the traffic cones.

The first car stopped to pay at the front table, then turned into their lane. Renjun passed out the rags and sponges, wringing his own extra fluffy sponge as the car rolled down its window. “Hello,” he said, smiling his most charismatic smile. It was the one he practiced in the mirror every morning before school, and he even found himself won over by it sometimes. “Welcome to the West Gardens High senior cash wash! Thanks so much for stopping by.”

The woman in the front seat was a thirty-something mom. Two kids were behind her, eating happy meals and playing with their little plastic toys. Renjun pressed his face to the back window and crossed his eyes. The girl giggled and rocked in her car seat, while her mother smiled into the rearview mirror.

The group slipped into a natural groove, each taking a different section. Renjun was meticulous, shining the rear headlight until it glimmered, folding his rag to a thin corner and getting into the cracks around it. With the sun shining, it was easy to work up a sweat, but Renjun liked this kind of work. He liked anything that gave him a sense of achievement, especially when he thought of the crisp five dollar bill it had earned them, sitting pretty at the top of the cashbox.

He glanced up. Yoorim and Jeno were at the front of the car, scrubbing its hood. To his right was Donghyuck, who wasn’t even paying attention, absentmindedly wiping his sponge in the same circle over and over as he watched one of the girls on the team the next lane over tie the ends of her t-shirt up with a hair band to keep it from getting wet. The smallest bit of her midriff was exposed.

“ _Hey_.” Renjun stretched a leg and brought his heel down on Donghyuck’s toes. “Pay attention, you filthy lech.”

Donghyuck balanced with one hand on the trunk, the other grabbing his foot. “That hurt!”

“You’ve barely washed anything. Do you expect me to do the work of two people?”

“If you could, that’d be great.”

Renjun made sure the woman in the car was not watching, and sloshed the water on top of the trunk in Donghyuck’s direction, splattering it across his shirt.

“This is strike one,” he warned. “Three strikes, and you’ll be sorry you ever ran for treasurer in the first place. Got it?”

Donghyuck muttered something under his breath, and began to work his sponge in a circle of slightly larger diameter.

The first car was done finally after fifteen minutes. Yoorim waved it ahead, and they took a minute to regroup by their water bucket, washing their sponges clean.

“Hey,” Jeno said. “You’ve got suds on your nose.”

“What?” Renjun tried unsuccessfully to look down at it, going cross-eyed again. “Where?”

“Right there.” A split-second smirk appeared, and Renjun knew what that meant, but not quickly enough to avoid it as Jeno flicked up a spray of water. It flew right in Renjun’s face, nearly up his nostril, and he reeled back, snorting, trying to shake it off.

“Nice aim,” Yoorim said.

“Thank you,” Jeno responded.

Renjun breathed out. “This is fine,” he said. “You can play like a child all you want. I will keep my professionalism and my pride.”

This was a lie. Professionalism and pride always went out the window around Lee Jeno. Instead, Renjun picked up their soapy water bucket, making like he was going to empty and refill it on the grass. He walked close to Jeno, made a pretend stumble, and spilled the water right on him, pouring it down the front of his shirt and shorts. Jeno’s body spasmed at the sudden cold and he ran away, arms out as he looked down at the mess. Yoorim offered a round of polite applause.

“Now we’re even,” Renjun declared.

Jeno wrung his shirt, and a waterfall rained down from it. “Nice work,” he said wryly. When he let the shirt go and it flopped back down, it hugged him like a glove, white fabric turned semi-translucent. Renjun could see the outline of his chest, the hard planes of his stomach. He stared for a millisecond, remembered that it was _Jeno’s_ torso he was undressing with his eyes, and turned with flushed cheeks back towards the bucket.

 _Nice body,_ Yoorim mouthed in his direction.

Renjun threw his sponge at her face.

—

They kept working for the next hour and a half. Cars came in a pretty frequent stream, and as they got used to the routine of it, their washes became faster and more efficient. Even Donghyuck had settled into the rhythm of it, and Renjun was thankful to find he didn’t need to snap at him again, only fix him with the occasional steely stare to keep him in line.

Things died down for a brief moment in the afternoon. The groups took turns taking breaks. When the student council got their turn, they went to the school lawn, where Renjun took baggies of popcorn he’d made the night before and passed them out to replenish their energy for the remainder of the day.

Donghyuck was the odd one out; instead of sitting on the lawn, he went to hang out with one of the other car wash teams, who Renjun recognized to be Donghyuck’s friends. They were the same ones who had volunteered him on nominations day. _Good riddance,_ Renjun thought. _Better to have him out of my hair for fifteen minutes._

Jeno must have been thinking the same thing. “I don’t know about him,” he said, watching Donghyuck apprehensively. “I don’t even understand why he joined, if he isn’t interested in getting stuff done.”

“Maybe he caved to peer pressure,” Yoorim suggested.

“Or maybe he just likes causing trouble.” Renjun shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing it with exaggerated malice. “He’s even worse than Jeno.”

“I’m right here,” Jeno said.

“I just can’t imagine going all year like this.” Renjun tipped the bag over his mouth to get the crumbs, then opened the bag he’d packed for Donghyuck and started eating that, too. Slackers deserved no snacks. “He’s gonna drive me crazy.”

“We have three strong at least, right?” Yoorim shrugged, unbothered as always. “Don’t go crazy _yet._ Just stay positive. I’m sure things will work themselves out.”

“I guess so,” Renjun said, though he didn’t entirely believe it. He lay back in the grass, watching the clouds, thinking that two hours was still plenty of time for the fluffy white clouds to morph into spiraling storms.

—

Renjun ended their break with a trip to the bathroom. He stopped briefly in front of the mirror after washing his hands. His bangs were still damp from when Jeno had flicked the water in his face. He rubbed the hair between his fingers, wondering why it was that Jeno liked to pick on him so much, and why it was that he liked it and hated it at the same time. He’d been picked on ever since he was in elementary school, but other boys were meaner. They’d made him feel like an outsider, like he was too much of an annoyance or a teacher’s pet to tolerate. Leaving him out of classroom games, not inviting him to birthday parties, pointing and laughing at his most decorative sweaters. Jeno’s teasing was different. It made him feel included, like they were playing a game or running a race between just the two of them. Like he was the center of Jeno’s attention.

 _That’s it,_ Renjun decided. _It’s because he’s someone I can measure up against. No growth without competition, right?_ Jeno had taught him how to shoot a basket. And now, Jeno was being taught all about fundraising and running an event. Give and take. A symbiotic relationship. Renjun preferred to think of their dynamic purely in terms of nature documentaries. All survival instinct, no silly emotions getting in the way.

He ruffled his bangs and walked back out to the parking lot.

There, he was met by the first waves of disaster.

“Hey!” Mrs. Jang was running over, hair even frizzier than it had been that morning. “Renjun. Where have you been?”

“The bathroom. What’s going on?”

“Well, I —” She steered him closer to the lanes, and he could see the problem before she even said it: about half the students were missing. “I had to run to my car to get my lunch,” she explained, “and when I came back, people had just grabbed their stuff and left.”

“What?” He picked up the pace to the tent, where Jeno and Yoorim had already reconvened. “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know,” Yoorim said. “They got into their cars and drove off. I tried to wave them back, but they ignored me.”

Renjun fixed his gaze on Donghyuck, who was eating an apple on the curb. He marched over and stood in front of him, casting his shadow down on top of him.

“Hey,” he said. “You don’t happen to know where everyone went, do you?”

Donghyuck, continuing to chew slowly like nothing was wrong, answered, “Well, yeah. They took off.”

“What do you mean, they took off?”

“They asked if they could leave a little early to catch a movie. I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal, so —” 

“You said _yes?_ ” Renjun stooped and grabbed Donghyuck by the shoulders, giving him a small but forceful shake. “You told them they could go see a movie? In the middle of our car wash?”

“I don’t see the issue.”

“Donghyuck. We. Need. Those. People. Why the hell did you say they could leave?”

Donghyuck thumbed ashamedly at the sticker on his apple.

Renjun remembered the way Donghyuck had stood at nomination day, wearing a tiny smile as his friends chanted his name. The way he’d spent his break with them, instead of the rest of the student council.

“You let them go because they’re your friends, right?” Renjun asked flatly.

“How uncool would it have been if I told them they had to stay?” Donghyuck’s head drooped between his knees. “They’d have laughed at me. I don’t want them to think I’ve turned into some giant stick-in-the-mud just because I’m on the student council.” Renjun almost felt sympathetic to him for a second, thinking Yoorim might have been right when she’d said something about peer pressure, until Donghyuck added, “You know. Like you are.”

“Strike two,” Renjun whispered, yanking Donghyuck up and dragging him to the tent. The apple fell out of his hands and rolled along the concrete.

“New plan,” he announced. “We’ll have to split into smaller teams if we want to get to all the customers.” The cars had begun lining up at the edge of the lot, awaiting their turns. “Let’s have the four of us pair up, and we can cover two lanes instead of one.”

Just as he said it, Yoorim snatched Jeno by the sleeve of his shirt. “Cool. Can me and Jeno be a pair?”

Renjun suddenly lost his bravado. His leaderly puffed chest deflated. “What? I thought me and you would be a team.”

“We don’t have time to debate it,” Mrs. Jang cut in. A car honked impatiently in the distance. “Let’s get going. Yoorim and Jeno in lane one, Renjun and Donghyuck in lane two. Alright?” She gave them gentle shoves on the back, then waved in the customers at the front of the line.

Renjun didn’t understand it. Why on earth would Yoorim choose Jeno over him? _Especially_ when it meant sticking him with the student council’s black sheep. He got a funny feeling in his stomach again, just like he had the day they’d been pasting flyers. As he began to scrub at the front bumper of a red Prius, he watched them in the next lane. Yoorim and Jeno were talking as they worked, heads bent low together. Yoorim said something, and Jeno nodded earnestly in response. Renjun desperately wanted to know what she had said. He strained his ears to hear it, but they were too far away.

Quickly, he shook his head. He couldn’t be thinking about them when he was supposed to be working. Instead, he channeled his nervous energy into the wash, aggressively wiping the thick layer of dirt that was gathered at the corner of the windshield. He was so invested in it, so intent on his work, that he’d forgotten Donghyuck was even there.

“Hey.” The guy in the driver’s seat rolled down his window, leaning his head out to talk to Renjun. “Can you tell the kid in the back to hurry up? We’ve got somewhere to be at three-thirty, and he’s barely moving.”

“Sorry?” Renjun wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and shuffled along the side of the car. Behind it, Donghyuck had completely abandoned his sponge, which lay in a puddle on top of the trunk, and was instead leaning on the back bumper and talking on his cellphone.

Renjun could feel the rage boiling, the bubbles crawling up his throat and trying to release themselves as a shout. He swallowed them back, knowing he was in front of a customer.

“Donghyuck,” he said, more softly than it deserved. “Do you mind putting your phone away? At least till we finish this one up?”

“Sorry,” Donghyuck said unconvincingly. “I’ll just be a second.”

The guy in the car honked his horn. “Get off my bumper.”

“Jeez. Just chill out —”

Before Donghyuck could shove his entire foot in his mouth, Renjun swooped in front of the window. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I know this isn’t okay. Could I have one minute to talk with him? If you really need to get going, I can always offer you a refund.”

The guy scratched at his stubble in annoyance, though Renjun’s attentiveness seemed to have dispelled it slightly. “Refund would be great, thanks.”

“Of course. I’ll go grab your money for you.”

_Strike three._

On his way to the cashbox, Renjun grabbed Donghyuck by the collar of his shirt and dragged him back along with him. Once he was sure they were out of earshot of the car, he shoved him up onto the sidewalk beneath the tent, and burst out, “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought!”

“Cool it, man,” Donghyuck said, steadying himself on the side of the table. “You’re seriously overreacting.”

“I’m not,” Renjun snapped. “You’ve pissed me off for the last time today. Why are you even on the student council when you clearly don’t give a shit about it?”

“It’s — it’s because of my dad.”

“Your dad?” A faint question mark dulled the fire in Renjun’s gut. That could be anything. His mind raced through a thousand possibilities, and a few of them even made him feel sorry for Donghyuck. The only thing worse than peer pressure was parent pressure. Even Renjun had to soften at that. “Tell me what’s going on. I might not tear you to shreds if you’re being sincere for a change.”

“I am,” Donghyuck said, with a touch of desperation. “I… I kind of tanked my grades last year. Spent too much time with my friends, going to parties and stuff… I really screwed it up. He doesn’t trust me anymore. He told me I won’t even get into college like this. So, I thought that if I went through with this whole student council thing, I could put that on my applications, and maybe he’d forgive me a little.” He clasped his hands. “Please, _please_ don’t kick me out. I really need this. Or else…”

“Or else?” Renjun repeated, leaning in, somehow invested.

“Or else he’ll take my car away.”

Renjun froze, stone cold.

“Your car,” he said.

“Yeah. He said if I don’t shape up, he’s gonna take my car away. You’ve seen my car. It’s totally sexy, and if he takes it away, everyone’s gonna think I’m a loser, and girls won’t have anything to do with me anymore.”

“You can’t be serious,” Renjun whispered.

“I am, I —”

“ _That’s_ your big concern? Your ugly car?” Renjun pressed his hands into his face and groaned. “Imagine the privilege. The absolute privilege. I can’t believe this.”

“What?”

Renjun took in a furious breath, gearing up for an explosion. “You know, this stuff is actually important to some people. I didn’t run for class president because I’ll get some special reward for it. I did it because I care, and because I love our school and I want to make it better, and you’re making a mockery of the whole thing!” He jabbed a finger into Donghyuck’s chest. “If you’re gonna be here for the wrong reasons, you’re _done._ Do you hear me?”

Donghyuck stared at the finger like it was the barrel of a gun. Finally, something seemed to have gotten through to him. “I hear you,” he said.

“Good. Now, you’re going to bring this money to that guy’s car, and you’re going to apologize to him, and then you’re going to work ten times harder for the rest of the day. And if you do that, then maybe, _maybe_ I’ll think of letting you stay. Got it?”

“G-got it.”

Renjun opened the cashbox and shoved a five into Donghyuck’s hands. Donghyuck scampered off, tail between his legs.

 _This is the worst day of my life._ Renjun sank down, clinging to the corner of the table to keep him on his feet. He’d known it would be a disaster. An even bigger disaster than the great Pancake Breakfast Fundraiser Mishap of ‘15. He shivered just thinking about it, and decided that the Senior Car Wash Fundraiser of ‘17 would be looked back on as a similarly unspeakable day in the future.

He put on his brave face, though he hardly felt brave at all anymore, and stepped out from under the tent. Just as he did, he nearly crashed into Donghyuck, who’d already come running back, five dollars still clutched in his hands.

“I thought I told you to give him his refund,” Renjun said.

“I tried,” Donghyuck explained. “But, uh… he said he heard you yelling at me, and that he liked your passion. So he said we could keep it.”

Renjun blushed. He’d never acted so unprofessionally in his life — shouting at his coworker in front of a customer, of all things! He was mortified and flattered at the same time.

He took the bill back. “We never speak of this again. Okay?”

“I’m pretty sure the whole parking lot heard you, to be honest.”

“Shut up, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck got the message. He ran back to their lane, waving in the next car. Renjun took a spare second to breathe, to remind himself why he was doing this, and to remember that the day was almost over. Just an hour. Just an hour, and the kind of work he should have loved. Maybe he _could_ love it now, with the kinks flattened out.

He followed Donghyuck over to the car, waited for the window to roll down, and said, “Welcome to the West Gardens High senior cash wash! Thanks so much for stopping by.”

—

Renjun half-sat, half-draped himself over the front school steps. He was exhausted, and frankly still a little pissed off, but the heaviness of the cashbox at the end of the day had helped to bring him back down. Their first fundraiser had been a success, though a hard-earned one.

“Hey.” Yoorim stood below him, hip cocked and one foot raised on the bottom step. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah. My mom’s on her way.” Renjun held a hand over his eyes to look at her against the evening sun. He remembered her and Jeno, standing in their lane, talking close together and smiling. He turned his head away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you still mad at me for pairing up with Jeno?”

“Maybe.” He felt a blush creeping up his neck. He was embarrassed at what he was going to ask next, but he couldn’t resist it: “You don’t have… a _thing_ for him, do you?”

“For Jeno?” Her voice raised an octave, high with disbelief. “Of course I don’t, Renjun.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I had a crush, you know you would be the very first person I would tell.”

“Hmph.” Deep down, he’d known she didn’t. And even if she _did_ have a crush, that wasn’t any reason for him to be unhappy. Jeno would probably be a good boyfriend, regardless of his and Renjun’s little squabbles.

He tried to imagine Jeno and Yoorim together, holding hands, sitting together at a cafe table as they did their homework.

He immediately decided he did not like this imaginary scenario. The returning, unpleasant gurgle in his stomach told him so.

“Promise?” he said.

“I promise. I would never date your mortal enemy. Pretty sure he wouldn’t be interested, anyway.” She looked off over her shoulder, smiled, and added, “Besides, seems like _you_ ’re the one he wants to talk to.”

Renjun turned to see Jeno approaching, carrying a duffel bag in one hand. He’d changed into his West Gardens crewneck to fight the damp, carwash-induced chill (which had partially been Renjun’s fault, he remembered). He glanced at Renjun, then at Yoorim, then stayed where he was at the other side of the stairs, waiting.

“Think that’s my ride,” Yoorim announced. “See you, Renjun.” She bounded off towards the parking lot, though Renjun could not spot her father’s car.

“Hey.” Jeno slipped around to the steps. He took the first one tentatively, like he was expecting to be barked at. When Renjun didn’t, he went the rest of the way up and sat down beside him.

“Hey,” Renjun said back.

“Waiting for your ride?”

“Yeah.” Renjun shuffled a few inches away, as subtly as he could. Sitting too close to Jeno made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. _Must be his inherent, negative energy. It’s like electricity._

“You know,” Jeno began. He held his duffel bag between his knees, fabric crinkling. His hands were folded into the strap, twisting and untwisting. Big hands, but slender, too, a little mole on the inside of one of his index fingers. Renjun remembered when those hands had covered his on top of the basketball — _your hands are small,_ Jeno had remarked — and pursed his lips in one-sided defiance as Jeno continued, “The way you handled things today — I was surprised. You’re kind of… diplomatic, I guess. Good at talking to people.”

“Except when I started yelling.”

Jeno laughed. “Yeah. Besides that. I was kind of impressed, really.”

“What were you expecting?” Renjun asked flatly.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t expect you to be so good at this kind of stuff.”

“‘This kind of stuff?’ You mean, my job?” Renjun crossed his arms. “I didn’t get elected for no reason.”

“Yeah, but I —”

“I know I probably seem goofy to you most of the time. The mega-intense student council kid, with his special stationery and his too-detailed plans and his general craziness.” For once, Renjun didn’t overdo it. He spoke simply, honestly, looking Jeno in the eye as he said, “But I take pride in our school, and everything I do for it. This is what I like to do. And I’m really, _really_ good at it. I’m not just a blowhard, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t,” Jeno assured him. “And you’re right. I shouldn’t sell you short.”

“Correct.” Renjun couldn’t help but smile. He was always begging for recognition, while the other students ignored him. It felt good to have it for once. “You of all people ought to know I’m a force to be reckoned with.”

Jeno smiled, too. “Definitely. I sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of your scoldings.”

Renjun’s cheeks went red again, though the more he thought about it, the less he minded it. He’d only said what was on his mind. He’d gotten to keep those five dollars, too. Maybe there _was_ a little justice in this world, after all.

They sat together until Renjun’s mom pulled up. When he dropped into the passenger’s seat, he looked out at Jeno, and thought maybe there wouldn’t be any harm in offering a strictly professional wave goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	5. Blood Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small tw for this chapter -- mentions/descriptions of needles and blood. it is a blood drive, after all. nothing graphic, though.

Their second student council meeting, the Monday after the car wash, was mostly uneventful. They discussed the results of said car wash, which had earned them four-hundred and fifty dollars despite the unfavorable circumstances. Mrs. Jang asked, “How can we use this as a learning experience to help us improve in the future?” as if she was speaking to a classroom of kindergarteners, and Renjun had snidely answered, side-eying Donghyuck, “Maybe by actually contributing to the team and having a backbone.” Donghyuck had leaned over his desk and raised his hand in a rude gesture which elicited a shocked “oh my” from Mrs. Jang.

After that, they made a tentative school year calendar, marking in the rough number of fundraisers they wanted to accomplish and when. Everything was tied up by two-thirty. Mrs. Jang sped out of the room as if she had much better things to do, and Renjun began to pack his bag.

“Hey,” Jeno said. He’d already pulled on his backpack, but had stopped beside their desks, holding a stack of papers. “This is kind of unrelated to student government stuff, but I’m in the Red Cross Club, and we’re having a blood drive this Wednesday. I thought I’d see if you all wanted to sign up for it.”

Donghyuck laughed a singular _ha_ like the honk of a goose. “Yeah, no way. My student council duties do not extend to strangers stealing my blood.”

“Your student council duties don’t seem to matter to you anyway,” Yoorim said.

“I just think it would be a good way of setting an example,” Jeno explained. “We’re student leaders, so if we do it, it might encourage others to do it, too. It’s an important cause. Yoorim?” He looked to her, seeming to know she was the most sensible and therefore his most reliable ally.

“I was planning on signing up anyway,” she said.

“What about you, Renjun?”

“I, uh. Have stuff to do that day.” Renjun busied himself by zipping and unzipping his pencil bag.

“Like what?”

“Sports. Sports club.”

Jeno raised a brow. “Sports club? Which sport, exactly?”

“I forget what it’s called.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

“Actually, I can’t give blood anyway. I have a rare blood condition.”

“I’ve never heard about this,” Yoorim said.

“It makes my blood flow backwards. It’s very dangerous. Only one in eight billion people have it.”

“In other words, just you.”

Jeno sighed. “If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. You can just say so.”

Renjun bristled, biting his lip. He really, really did not want to do it. He had been afraid of needles and doctors and blood for as long as he could remember. When he was little they’d used to have to put a blindfold on him so he couldn’t see the needle when receiving his vaccines, otherwise he would go haywire and start screaming his head off. One time, at age eleven, he’d found out on the examination table that he’d needed his tetanus booster, and he’d run right out the door and through the doctor’s office halls, all the way out to the back lawn where he’d climbed a tree and refused to come down. They’d had to call the fire department and have him carried down like a cat.

But Jeno could not know any of this. He could not allow his biggest competitor to know he had a dire weakness.

“Fine,” Renjun said. “I’ll sign up.”

“Cool.” Jeno handed each of them a permission form. “Just have your parents sign these, and you can drop them off at the main office, or even just give them back to me and I’ll turn them in for you. Thanks, you guys.”

“No problem,” Renjun mumbled.

Jeno waved and walked out the door.

Yoorim looked at Renjun, and said, “I see you’ve made an interesting choice.”

—

In the summer before eighth grade, Renjun’s mother told him they would repaint his bedroom. He was allowed to choose any colors he wanted, so he did two walls in blue and two in goldish yellow, the school colors of West Garden School District. She’d let him help to paint it, too, and it took them several days in their specially purchased painting overalls to get the job done. Between coats, they would eat sliced apples on the back porch and watch Inky chase squirrels around the yard. Renjun loved this memory. He thought of it every time he walked in his bedroom door.

He had a shelf reserved just for all of his trophies and medals, which hung over his bed. Science fairs, math competitions, spelling bees. Most of them were gold, a few silvers tossed in “for variety,” he claimed (certainly not a result of any shortcomings). At the end of his bed was his teddy bear he’d had since he was five, so well-loved that its limbs had fallen off multiple times over the years and had to be continuously sewn back on by his grandmother. His desk was on the opposite side of the room from his bed, his sticker-clad laptop atop it, his strings of lights and photos above that. Most of them were of him and his grandparents, him and his mom, or him and Yoorim over the years. It was like a timeline of his youth. Yoorim poked at it now, turning a photograph up so she could look at it.

“I think this was the exact moment I got taller than you,” she said.

Renjun pouted. “Now is not the time for you to rub your good genes in my face.”

“Fine. What did you want me to do?” She joined him where he sat on his bed.

“I have a favor to ask you.” He leaned over and pulled a tiny box from beneath his bed. It was a travel-sized sewing kit. “I picked this up at the store after school today.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to get over my fear of needles before this Wednesday, otherwise Jeno is going to make fun of me for it in front of everybody. I can just imagine the smug look on his face.” He popped open the box. “Basically, I just need you to prick me with these needles until I build up a mental resistance to it. They should be sterile, right?”

Yoorim took the box and set it as far from Renjun as she could reach. “I am absolutely not going to do that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Renjun’s head drooped. He felt completely hopeless.

“You can just not do it. No one would blame you. Lots of people are afraid of needles.”

“I can’t do that,” he groaned. “That would be admitting defeat. Jeno will think I’m a huge coward. And I already said I’d do it…” He plucked uselessly at a fuzz on his bedspread. “I bet Jeno’s given blood a hundred times. He probably has the nicest, sparkliest blood the doctors have ever seen. And he personally delivers it to the little old ladies who need it at the hospital and everyone takes pictures and claps because he’s just that perfect.” Renjun stuck out his bottom lip.

“You can’t actually be jealous of Jeno’s _blood._ Especially the imaginary version of his blood you’ve just invented.”

“I’m not _jealous._ ”

“You sure sound jealous. You’re jealous that there’s something he can do that you can’t.”

Renjun stood, planted his hands on his hips in a power pose, and announced, “That is no longer the case. This Wednesday, I am going to donate my blood, and I’m not even gonna flinch when they put the needle in my arm.”

“Your face is totally pale.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up just talking about it,” Renjun admitted.

“Well. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Yoorim grabbed her backpack off the floor, and the sewing kit from the bed. “I’m taking this with me, by the way. I don’t trust you with it.”

“But I spent ten dollars on it,” Renjun complained.

Yoorim ignored him and walked to the door. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Don’t come up with any more harebrained plans in the meantime, alright?”

“Alright,” he muttered.

She left. He could hear her steps all the way down the stairs, and the quick goodbye she said to his mother on her way out.

Renjun stared at the permission slip where it lay on his desk.

—

“Hey Mom,” Renjun said, walking around the corner into the kitchen. His mother stood at the counter, cutting strawberries for a fruit salad, though she seemed to be eating most of them right then, popping half of each one into her mouth and shuddering as if it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. When Renjun appeared, she immediately shoved the strawberry container in his face.

“Have one,” she said.

He did. They were sweeter than usual, not very tart. She’d gotten them at the local farmer’s market, of which she was a huge proponent. They went most weekends to pick up fresh fruits and veggies. They’d even gone through a short vegetarian phase together last summer, when they’d decided they could easily live entirely off of farmer’s market peaches and cucumbers and snap peas, except then Renjun would go to Yoorim’s house for dinner some nights and she would cut her steak or chew her burgers with such relish ( _mmmmmm,_ she would hum as she did so, _sure sucks that you can’t have any of this..._ ) that Renjun finally broke down and began to eat meat again behind his mother’s back. Yoorim became his secret meat dealer, who snuck him cold slices of sausage pizza in her bag lunches. Then one night he woke at two AM and came downstairs to find his mother wolfing down an entire box of Slim Jims in front of the pantry, and Renjun had started cackling at it, at the thought that they’d both been breaking the promise behind each other’s backs, worried the other might find out. His mother started laughing, too. Somehow, just like that, they were always on the same wavelength.

“So, what was it you wanted?” his mother asked. She wiped her strawberry-stained hands on a rag.

“I need you to sign this permission form.”

She took it and flipped it rightside-up to read it. “Blood drive?” She blinked and read it again. “Really? You’re going to donate blood?”

“Yeah. You know,” he said nonchalantly, “just trying to make a difference in the world. Save a life.”

“The last time you got your flu shot you started screaming at the doctor that you hated him and that he was doing the devil’s work.”

“I might have been in an emotionally fragile state,” Renjun said quietly.

She shook her head. “Renjun. I know how afraid you are of needles. I don’t think it would be responsible for you to force yourself to do this, no matter how badly you want to do a good thing.”

“But I already told someone I would…” 

“Someone?” she echoed. “Who?”

“It’s — it’s not a big deal. Don’t look at me like that.”

A slight, impish smile rose on her lips. “Are you trying to impress a boy?”

“Of course not!” He smacked the front of the paper. “Are you gonna sign it, or not?”

“Sweetie, you can tell me if you have a crush.”

“I do not have a crush. If you knew the whole situation, you’d realize how crazy you sound right now.”

“Alright, alright.” She opened the kitchen drawer and retrieved a pen. “I’m only signing this because I feel you’re old enough to make your own choices. Though I beg you to reconsider.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s also no way you’ll really go through with it, so it’s not like there’s any risk.”

He glared at her hand as it moved across the paper, then snapped it back. “I’ll take a photo of my blood bag for proof,” he said, and marched back up the stairs to place it inside his backpack.

—

After dinner Tuesday night, Renjun took Inky for a walk around the neighborhood. She was a small dog, so she did not need a lot of exercise; Renjun did it more for his own sake, and attributed his “svelte form” to their evening promenades. Inky was lazy, and oftentime would lay down in the middle of the sidewalk and take a break mid-stroll. Renjun would then take many, many pictures of her to post to his Instagram, captioned things such as, “Inky, spoiled beyond compare, tiny feet too delicate for village sidewalks.”

He was walking her past a little brick house with hostas in the front yard when he heard the squeal of bike tires from behind him. He didn’t bother to turn and look until he noticed the bike slowing down right beside him, and had to double-take when he realized it was Jeno.

“Hey,” Jeno said, bike gently cruising. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

“Well, I do,” Renjun said.

“Huh. I bike here pretty often. Surprised I haven’t run into you before.”

Renjun stared pointedly in the other direction. He liked to restrict his and Jeno’s interactions to school only, if possible.

He reached the end of the sidewalk where another street branched. Jeno pumped ahead and cut him off, bike blocking the way. “Is that your dog?” he asked.

“No, just a random one I found lying near the dumpsters. Thought I’d stick a collar on it and parade it around.”

“Haha, very funny. What’s his name?”

“ _Her_ name is Inky.”

Jeno slid off his bike and put up the kickstand. He crouched and held out his hand. “Here, girl,” he called in a squeaky voice. “Come here.”

“She’ll bite all your fingers off,” Renjun said.

Much to his dismay, Inky sidled up against Jeno’s leg and wagged her tail. “I think she likes me!” Jeno said, excited like a little kid. He patted her head.

 _Even my dog has betrayed me,_ Renjun thought bitterly.

“I saw you turned your permission sheet in,” Jeno said. Inky had placed her front paws in his lap, and he was leaning down to let her lick his chin. “I’m really glad. Sometimes we have trouble getting people to show up, so it’s nice to know you’ll be there.”

Renjun paled at the mention of the blood drive. It was creeping up on him, and he still didn’t have a solution. Everytime he shut his eyes, his brain would flash forward to the future, and he could see himself walking into the gym with all the tables set up and the blood bags and the little plastic tubes attached to needles. He just knew he was going to freak out, maybe before one of the nurses even spoke to him. He would feel the phantom pain at the crook of his arm and pass out right there in the gym doorway, and Yoorim would have to dramatically catch his limp body so he didn’t crack his skull open on the laminated floor.

“You good?” Jeno asked.

“What?”

“I dunno. You were making a weird face for a second there.”

The color returned to Renjun’s face in a blush. He didn’t like to know that Jeno had seen him looking squeamish, so he defensively responded, “Yeah, well, it wasn’t half as weird as the face you make all the time. You know. Your regular face.”

“Nice comeback,” Jeno deadpanned. He lifted Inky into his lap. “Does he treat you like this, too?” he mused in her ear. “Must be awful living with him. You know, at school everyone calls him the tiny tyrant.”

“They do not!” Renjun tugged on Inky’s leash. “Stop corrupting my dog!”

Jeno leaned closer. “Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage.”

Renjun snapped Inky up out of Jeno’s arms and hugged her over his shoulder like a mother burping a baby. “Where are your animal instincts?” he muttered. “You’re supposed to attack strangers and protect me.”

“What, I’m a stranger now?”

“Essentially. You didn’t even know I lived around here, even though you apparently bike down this street all the time.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog, either,” Jeno added.

“That’s what I’m saying. There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Lee Jeno.” Renjun stared off towards the sunset, trying to put on his best movie-actor, faraway look. “I’m a mystery. A real enigma.”

“That’s for sure.” Jeno stood back up, and took a step forward. Renjun instinctively moved away from him, thinking he was getting way, _way_ too close considering they’d just established their strangers status; but Jeno just put his hand on Inky’s head, petting her between the ears. “Then maybe you should tell me more stuff about yourself, and we can move up the ranks to acquaintances, then to friends, then to…”

“Then to?” Renjun felt a static-y prickle in his chest. He was both afraid and dying to know what Jeno was going to say next.

“Work colleagues,” Jeno finished. “You know, since I’m your V.P.”

“Ah.” Renjun breathed a sigh of relief. _What were you thinking?_ he berated himself. _Of course it was going to be work colleagues. That is the final step of our professional relationship._ Admittedly, he didn’t mind the idea. It was more practical for them to become more in tune with each other, for the sake of the student council. It didn’t mean Renjun had to lose his competitive edge — of course, he would never give that up.

“So to start. Why’d you name her Inky?” He scratched the back of Inky’s neck, and she shut her eyes contentedly.

Renjun turned his body away, keeping Inky all to himself. “Because she’s black, like squid ink. And it’s one of the ghosts in Pac-Man.”

“The pink one?”

“The blue one, dummy.”

“Isn’t the blue one a boy ghost?”

“Stop imposing gender norms on ghosts and dogs.”

Jeno laughed and walked back to his bike. “Alright, alright. Well. That’s three facts I learned about you. Where you live, that you have a dog, and that she’s named after a Pac-Man ghost. I think that gives me a lead, right?”

“A lead?”

“Yeah. Bet you can’t name three facts about me.”

“I sure could.” Renjun’s competitive spirit flared up. He was being challenged to a battle. “You’re on the basketball team. You live next-door to Na Jaemin. Your —” He almost said, _your parents are splitting up,_ but he remembered that this was not at all an appropriate thing to say. Awkward silence ensued as Jeno waited for the third fact. Nothing came.

“See?” Jeno said. “I have a lead. You’ll have to do a little better than that if you want to win.”

“Fine,” Renjun conceded quietly. “You’re winning. But not for long.”

Jeno smiled. His eyes squinted to crescents and his nose scrunched. “Good. Wouldn’t want an easy victory.” Then he hopped up onto his bicycle seat, said a quick, “see you later,” and pedaled away down the road.

Renjun set Inky back on the ground and pulled her back towards home, though he kept turning his head to watch Jeno shrink further and further away from him, until he was gone.

—

The gym had been transformed for the blood drive. There was a tiny waiting area just inside the door, blocked off by paper dividers and filled with folding chairs. Beyond it was the check-in desk, where members of the Red Cross Club sat with clipboards and folders filled with signed permission sheets. The rest of the gym contained rows of medical chairs with reclining backs, and little wheelie stands with gauze and hooks for the blood bags. Nurses filed between stations, dressed in navy scrubs.

Renjun swallowed. His throat had gone completely dry. He could feel it scratch all the way down.

“Are you alright?” Yoorim asked him. She finished signing in, and sat beside him in the waiting area. “You look sick.”

“I’m great. Never been better,” Renjun lied. He couldn’t stop wringing his hands in his lap. Just looking at all the medical equipment had been enough to make him nauseous, and when he’d first walked in the door, he’d nearly run right back out to throw up in the bathroom. Somehow, miraculously, he’d held it together.

 _You can do this,_ he assured himself. _It only takes a few minutes, and Mom said it doesn’t even hurt. It’s for a good cause. Jeno is here, and he’s going to see you if you bungle it._

As if one cue, a familiar head poked in between the dividers. “Hey,” Jeno said. “You guys sign in already?”

“Yeah,” Yoorim responded.

“Cool. Things are running a little slow. There were more volunteers than we’d expected.”

 _Which also means there are more people here to watch me die inside,_ Renjun realized. He could feel sweat beading at his hairline.

“Did you donate already?” Yoorim asked.

“Yeah, I went this morning.” Jeno raised his arm. The little piece of gauze was still stuck on the inside of his elbow. “I’m just hanging around to run the snack booth, so you’ll see me when you’re all done.”

Renjun imagined Jeno getting his blood drawn. The nurse raising the needle, letting it glint momentarily in the gym ceiling lights. The tension in Jeno’s fist as he squeezed the stress ball. The little prick as she pressed the needle into his vein. The bag filling, slowly, Jeno watching it flow through the tube.

Renjun gagged, and tried to cover it with a cough.

“Are you alright?” Jeno asked him. “Your legs are shaking.”

“I’m fine,” Renjun said quickly. “It’s, uh — the music.” He pointed a finger toward the speaker on the wall, which played _...Baby One More Time_ by Britney Spears in the background. “It’s a classic. Can’t help but groove to it. Y’know?”

“Sure,” Jeno agreed, though he still looked suspicious. “I’ll see you guys in a little bit, then.”

“See you,” Yoorim said.

Once Jeno left, a girl at the front desk called, “Heo Yoorim.”

“My turn, then,” she said. “Are you sure you’re fine here by yourself?”

“I am perfectly capable of anything I set my mind to.”

“There’s no shame in backing out.”

“I’m not going to back out,” Renjun said firmly, defying the tremble in his voice. He’d been mentally preparing himself for the past two days and waking up from needle-related nightmares every morning. It couldn’t be all for naught. He needed to do this, to prove something to Jeno, and to himself.

Yoorim sighed as one of the nurses collected her and brought her to a station. Renjun did not watch. At this point, he decided his best move was to ignore what was happening as much as possible and just focus on keeping a cool head.

“Huang Renjun.”

Cool-headedness was abandoned. His breathing picked up as he wobbled towards the nurse, like a spooked heroine hiding behind a door in a scary movie. He tried to stifle it, too, pressing his sleeve over his mouth. She side-eyed him, and asked, “Have you ever given blood before?”

“Nope. My first time,” he said, voice muffled.

“Well, I can assure you it’s not as awful as it seems. It’ll be over before you know it.” She gave him a cheerful wink, which achieved the opposite of its intended effect by filling him with dread.

“Haha, yeah,” he responded stiffly.

She patted the armrest of the chair and he lowered himself into it. She reached down towards something he couldn’t see, and flinched when she moved it towards his arm, but it was only the blood pressure cuff. As she tightened it and wrote down his numbers, he stared directly up at the gym ceiling, trying not to look at his fellow blood-givers. There was a basketball lodged between two ceiling beams. He desperately wished that he was the basketball in that moment.

Seemingly satisfied, the nurse produced a stress ball and pressed it into his palm. “Here,” she said. “It’ll help to show the vein.”

 _The vein._ Vein was a terrible word. Renjun thought of how creepy the veins looked inside the bat wings shown in his biology textbook. He squeezed the stress ball very, very hard.

“Hold on,” the nurse said, laughing. “I have to get the needle ready.”

 _The needle._ Needle was worse than vein. Needles were pointy. They were made to drain him like a vampire’s teeth. He would be nothing but a loose, dusty-dry sack of skin when she was done with him. And Jeno would probably come over and laugh. _What a loser,_ he would say, pointing at Renjun’s pitiful corpse. _Looks like I win, once and for all._

 _No,_ he told himself. _Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be —_

Against his better judgement, Renjun turned his head.

The nurse held the needle only six inches above his arm. She fiddled with the knob on the blood-drawing machine beside her.

“Okay. Are you all set?” she asked.

“Uh.”

“If it helps, I can count it down for you. Squeeze.”

“Okay.”

“Five,” she started. She turned the needle over so it aimed towards his vein. “Four.”

Renjun looked up at the gym ceiling again. The lights were getting wavery and fuzzy. He couldn’t find the basketball. He felt like he was shrinking.

“Three, two.”

The edge of the nurse’s hand touched his arm.

“One.”

There was a cool prick of pain. The coolness spread down through his skin. The tube on the needle turned red.

“I did it,” Renjun said breathlessly.

“Yup. It’ll take about ten minutes or so. You just have to stay still.”

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. He shut his eyes. He had the sudden sensation as if he was falling asleep; then a sideways feeling, like he was slipping, and he went unconscious.

—

“Are you okay?”

The room was spinning. Renjun blinked.

There were four nurses standing over him, including the school nurse, and Yoorim a few feet beyond them. They came slowly into focus as he sat up a little straighter.

“Whoa, be careful,” the school nurse said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You passed out for a second.”

“I did?” He looked down at his arm. There was no needle, just the taped down piece of gauze where the needle should have been.

“Yes. We yanked you off as soon as we could. How are you feeling now?”

“Alright,” he said. He was still a little faint, but he could move his fingers and his legs. The room stopped spinning. He swallowed, and it still felt dry.

He was put through a short check-up, getting his blood pressure tested again and his sight and hearing assessed. The school nurse stepped away to phone his mother. Yoorim sat beside him on the chair.

“What happened?” she asked. “Did you get freaked out?”

“At first, but I thought I’d overcome it…” He scratched his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Hmm.” She held his hand and patted the top of it. “Well. They say you seem back to normal now. Must’ve been a weird fluke. They didn’t take much blood, but you still ought to go get a snack.”

“A snack?” Renjun was suddenly excited, so much so that he sat up too fast and went a little dizzy again. “Great. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.”

“ _Huh?_ ” Yoorim’s jaw dropped. “Renjun, are you _insane_? No wonder you passed out!”

“I couldn’t stomach anything,” he admitted. “I was too nervous about today.”

She _tsk_ ed and shook her head. “Oh my god, Renjun. You really need to be more careful.”

“I… I wanted to show him I could do it,” he murmured. “So he didn’t think I was a big baby or something.”

“Who? Jeno?” She glanced over at the snack table, where Jeno was watching them from a distance, looking concerned but not wanting to get in the middle of things. “You know, sometimes your competitiveness is a detriment to you.”

“I know,” he said.

“Go get a snack. I’ll watch for your mom.”

Gingerly, he did as she told him, walking across the gym to where Jeno sat. Immediately, Jeno stood up and retrieved another chair, setting it up beside him and guiding Renjun towards it, as if he feared Renjun might keel over on the spot.

“I’m fine,” Renjun insisted, sitting with his back defiantly straight and helping himself to a packet of peanut butter cookies. “Thanks, though.”

“You sure?” Jeno sat down again and folded his arms on the table. “That was kind of scary to watch.”

“I mean it. I’m okay now.”

Jeno grabbed a juicebox from the cooler beside him. He even unwrapped the straw and poked it into the hole before handing it over. “Drink this,” he said.

Renjun felt a bit like a little kid being doted on by an overprotective parent, but he complied. It was grape juice, his favorite. He sucked it down quickly, realizing how thirsty he was.

“After Yoorim was all done,” Jeno said, “she came over and talked to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Renjun said flatly. “What did she say?”

“That you’re terrified of needles.”

Renjun sighed into his straw, making bubbles. Yoorim could not be trusted, yet she was the trustiest person he knew. It was a predicament. “Yeah. I am.”

“Then why’d you agree to do it?”

Renjun set his juicebox down. He reached for another cookie, but his hand hung hesitantly beside the wrapper. He let his fingertips rest on the table. “Because I thought you’d make fun of me if I didn’t.”

Jeno took the packet of cookies, removed one, and pushed it into Renjun’s hand. “I wouldn’t have made fun of you for that,” he said simply.

Renjun blinked. “You wouldn’t have?”

“No. Everyone has something they’re afraid of. That’s not the kind of thing you poke fun at.”

Renjun smiled. He tried to hide it by shoving the cookie in his mouth.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Renjun decided he didn’t mind this kind of silence. There didn’t always need to be a game or a battle. Maybe, no matter how much Renjun didn’t like to admit it, Jeno could be good company. Someone who was simply good to talk to, and good to sit next to without talking. It made sudden sense why everyone seemed to like Jeno. On his mental ladder, Renjun slid Jeno up from _stranger_ to halfway between _acquaintance_ and _friend._

“Your mom’s coming to get you?” Jeno asked.

“Yeah,” Renjun said. A thought occurred to him, as it had a day ago, and he wondered if it would be in bad taste to ask about it. But he’d never felt this close to Jeno before, so he decided it was as good a moment as any. “How, uh… how are your parents doing?” he asked tentatively.

Jeno seemed surprised, lips parted. “Oh.”

“I mean — you know, after what Jaemin told me. I was just wondering. Not being nosy, or anything, just — I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Jeno’s face softened. He didn’t seem offended, just happy and sad at the same time. “My mom moved out,” he said.

“Oh.” Renjun shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt sorry he’d asked it. “That sucks. I —”

“It’s okay. I’m getting used to it.” Jeno’s gaze flickered up to his gauze. He fiddled idly with the edge of the tape on it. “I guess it’s just weird to only have one parent now. Not that I don’t see my mom anymore, just that the house feels all empty. I walk into the living room expecting to see both of them, but then it’s just my dad, and he’s still pretty miserable about the whole thing. Though I guess it’s better than them fighting all the time.” Shyly, he mumbled, “I miss having my mom around at home.”

Renjun felt a little spark of a connection. He poked Jeno’s other arm. “Hey! You know, I only live with one of my parents, too.”

“You do?”

“Yup. Just me and my mom.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I don’t broadcast it. But it’s been just the two of us for ages. So I guess I kinda know what you mean, though my parents were never married.” Renjun unwrapped the last two of his cookies. He put one between his teeth, and gave the other to Jeno.

“You should really be the one eating this,” Jeno said.

“Just take it. It’s a gesture of goodwill.”

Jeno smiled. They ate their cookies together, legs swinging under the table like children, content in their quiet corner of the gym.

“That’s one more,” Jeno said. “One more fact. Renjun lives with his mom. You make this game too easy, you know.”

“No games right now. I just passed out.”

“That’s fair.”

Renjun laughed. The taste of the cookie was still on his tongue, a lingering sweetness that persisted long after he told Jeno goodbye and met his mother at the gym door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	6. Mile Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny tw for very brief mentions of bullying/homophobia

The first basketball home game of the season was October 19th. The school’s marching band had been invited to play during halftime, which Renjun was thrilled about. He loved marching band even more than he loved concert band (which was a lot), because the crowds were much more excitable and would even clap along with the beat of the drums. The audience during concert band was completely silent, aside from the occasional baby crying or phone going off, and sometimes Renjun could even spot old people falling asleep in the rows. No one fell asleep during the marching band’s halftime show.

They pulled on their uniforms in the practice room. Renjun thought he looked quite dashing in his blue and gold coat and his little black cap. He swiveled around in front of the mirror, impressed at the fit.

“Stop checking yourself out,” Yoorim said. She did up the top button of her coat. Naturally, everything looked good on her because she was tall. Renjun wished there was a way she could donate a little bit of her height to him, so he at least didn’t need to wear lifts in sneakers.

He sat down in one of the metal folding chairs and assembled his piccolo. He’d played flute until tenth grade, when their band instructor had encouraged him to switch over. He was the only piccolo player in the band, which he greatly enjoyed. He loved being the only person who could do something.

Yoorim settled beside him and undid her oboe case. She’d been the only oboe player for a long time, too, until a junior had started on it this year. This particular junior would not shut up between songs, and also seemed to have automatically assumed Yoorim was her new best friend, because she would tap Yoorim on her knee as she was turning sheet music pages and start ranting to her about the recent arguments she and her boyfriend had gotten into. Sometimes the band instructor would snap at them for talking, though Yoorim remained silent the entire time, and she would flash Renjun her “please release me from this hellish nightmare” look across their C of seats.

Presently, the other oboe girl was putting her hair in a ponytail and complaining about how uncute her uniform was. “My boyfriend’s gonna see how stupid I look in it and breakup with me,” she bemoaned.

“Oh my god,” Yoorim hissed in Renjun’s ear. “I want to smack her so bad.”

“Do not smack her. You’ll get kicked out of band and I’ll be all alone with the rest of the shitty woodwind people.”

“I hope I never get a boyfriend and casually lose my entire personality.”

“Me, too.” He and Yoorim had already decided once that the likelihood of either of them having boyfriends before graduating high school was low. Renjun, since he was one of only about two gay boys in the entire school, and Yoorim, because all the boys seemed to be afraid of her. Instead, they’d agreed that they would each meet nice, put-together boys during their freshman years of college and have the campus romances of their dreams.

“I think a boy would have a hard time changing anything about you,” Yoorim said. “You are the human equivalent of a big mountain. Unmoveable. Unconquerable.”

“Thank you,” Renjun responded.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t think you deserve a good sweet boy to love you for all your mountain-y ways.”

“I don’t need a man. They’re overrated.”

“You sure?”

“Name one man who isn’t.”

Yoorim smiled to herself and didn’t say anything.

After they finished their warm-ups, the band walked to the side entrance of the gym. The game was still going on inside. Renjun could hear the slap of the rubber ball on the laminated floor and the cheers of the audience, which were a consistent mumble and then a sudden roar as a basket was made. While they waited for the halftime announcement, Renjun practiced the fingering for _The Final Countdown_.

The timer buzzed. The band instructor peeked in through the doors, made sure the court was empty, and waved the band in. As Renjun marched down the sideline of the court, piccolo at his lips, he glanced at the bleachers. Basketball games were always popular, maybe the most popular sport at their school, and both sides were full up with attendees from West Gardens and that night’s competitor, Kingsley High. From the opposite corner of the gym came the West Gardens mascot, Trevor the Trout, who had eyes pointing in two different directions and an oversized backwards baseball cap sewn onto his head in an attempt to make him seem more “hip” and “teenager friendly.” He danced out along to the marching band’s music, doing a clumsy shuffle. Closer to Renjun was the bench, where the players had taken their seats. Chenle, at the end, gave Renjun an over-enthusiastic wave. Beyond him, Jeno was scanning the rows of marchers; when he saw Renjun, he let out a small, inaudible laugh, and his eyes crinkled in a smile.

Renjun looked away, focusing in on the back of the kid’s head in front of him. Jeno probably thought marching band was silly. Or at least, he probably thought it wasn’t as cool as being a basketball star and making slam dunks while the crowd screamed. Renjun told himself he did not care about this (though he did a little bit), and marched on ahead.

They did two songs — _The Final Countdown, Land of 1000 Dances —_ before finishing off with the cheerleaders coming out and doing a big fancy flip in the middle of the marching rows. Renjun hit the last note on his piccolo, a high B to close things out. Then the band exited in orderly fashion back out the side door. Once all the heads were counted, the instructor told them they were allowed to leave or go back in and catch the end of the game. Renjun did not have any interest in basketball, but he was interested in his school’s success in a holistic sense, so he and Yoorim filed quietly back in and took some empty chairs near the front which had been reserved for band members. The second half was starting. Jeno walked back onto the court, stretching his neck side to side before placing his hands on his knees.

The whistle blew. The ball flew across the court, into a Kingsley boy’s hands. He dribbled it a few feet before being trapped by West Gardens’ shooting guard. Quickly, he shot the ball between a gap to one of his teammates, who stood on the opposite side of the three-point line. The teammate made an attempt at a basket toss. It hit the backboard and fell right into Jaemin’s hands. His eyes darted to where Jeno was racing up the other way, making an opening. Jaemin passed it through to Jeno, who dodged a Kingsley player to make a layup into the basket.

The West Gardens side of the bleachers roared and whooped. The score on the board went up two points, extending West Gardens’s lead at 42 to 34. Jeno walked back from the net, giving Jaemin a high-five. He ran a hand through his hair so it stuck up with sweat, then tugged up the end of his jersey to mop his brow. Renjun could see the top of his hip bone and his bellybutton.

He felt suddenly hot, as he had been the one racing around the court. He forced himself to watch the ball instead, where it was being brought to the other team.

Basketball was one of few sports Renjun could generally follow along with, though he did nudge Yoorim’s leg once to ask her what foul had been committed. The game was not close; West Gardens stayed ahead for the rest of the second half, finishing with an over twenty point lead. When Kinglsey made the last basket, a feeble attempt at catch-up, the timer ran out and the gym was filled with happy cheers from behind Renjun. He clapped with them, standing up as the West Garden boys celebrated at the edge of the court, then walked to the benches to chug water and wipe their faces on their towels.

The audience began to thin out as they left. Renjun and Yoorim were about to follow when Jeno approached them at the bottom bleacher, still smiling as if the victory had lit up every nerve in his body.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the railing of the bleachers. “Did you like the game?”

“It was good,” Yoorim said. “Nice job.”

Jeno looked at Renjun. His gaze flickered up and down over his band uniform. “You look cute in that,” he said.

Renjun rolled his eyes. He _knew_ Jeno was going to tease him about it. Just like all the boys did. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “At least it doesn’t stink of sweat like your jersey.”

Jeno seemed a little taken aback, and quietly responded, “I’ll try not to sweat so much next time, then. I’d like to see _you_ do it, Mr. Class President.”

Renjun snorted. Sports were the one thing he had no real interest in being the best at. He liked to consider himself as being above them. Sports were for meathead jocks. The intelligent kids were the ones who joined _real_ clubs, like speech and debate, or Model UN, two of his specialties. There was no way Jeno could bait him on such a pointless thing.

“I don’t care about athletics,” he informed Jeno, shutting his eyes and yawning as if the conversation bored him. “So it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping you’d be a little competition for me during the mile run.”

Renjun opened one eye. “The mile run?”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be in P.E. on Monday.”

The mile run was not something that typically interested Renjun, either. For the last three years, he and Yoorim had simply walked the entire thing, taking the time to admire the nice fall weather and catch up on topics such as their favorite TV shows and what inedible thing Inky had tried to eat that week. They usually strolled across the finish line in well over twenty minutes. The gym teacher had even berated them for it last year, to which Yoorim had responded with, “You can’t shame me when my period cramps are this bad.” He had immediately lit up red in the face and excused them to the locker rooms.

Most of the boys in the class took the mile very seriously. They all competed hardcore to cross the finish line fastest; those who made the best times got their records displayed on a board outside the gym. Jeno usually made it within the top three. The other boys would give him congratulatory slaps on the back as he smiled bashfully and tried to catch his breath.

“It’s a shame,” Jeno said now, smirking, “that you won’t be putting up a fight.”

 _Don’t do it,_ Renjun told himself. _Don’t fall for it._

“Who said anything about not putting up a fight?” he retorted.

_Oh no. You fell for it._

“Great. What’s the bet?”

Renjun knew he couldn’t beat Jeno. He went with a more manageable, “Top five. If I come in the top five, I win.”

“Leaderboard territory, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.” He held out a hand.

Renjun gave it a firm shake, scowling. Jeno jogged away to catch up with his team as they headed towards the locker room.

“I can’t believe this,” Yoorim murmured. “I’m not helping you this time. Just so you know.”

“That’s fine,” Renjun said. “I’ve got someone else in mind.”

—

That Saturday, Renjun stood on the street outside his house in his shorts and a tee, stretching. Chenle was a few feet ahead and had his phone with the stopwatch app open.

“I checked the board outside the gym,” he said. “Jeno’s time last year was six minutes, twenty-three seconds.”

“As if I care,” Renjun huffed.

“I thought that was the whole point.”

“No. I just need to get top five. What was the fifth place record?”

“Six fifty-three. What did you get last year? That way we can figure out how much time we need to shave off.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters, boss.”

“ _Twumminits,”_ Renjun mumbled.

“What?”

“Twenty minutes,” he enunciated.

Chenle went completely still for a moment, blank-faced. “That’s — I’m sure you had a good reason for it, boss. Were you on crutches?”

“I was not.”

Chenle pretended as if he did not hear this and turned around. “So. To improve your mile time, the best thing to do is build strength and endurance. And I think I figured out a great exercise to do just that.” He walked to a bush at the roadside, reached inside it, and dragged out a red wagon, the kind that Renjun had used to have when he was four that he’d dragged his dog before Inky, Patches McWiggles, around in. There was a bike helmet inside with racing stripes on the sides.

“What am I gonna do with that?” Renjun asked skeptically.

“We’re gonna go to the hill at the end of the street. I’ll get in here, and you’ll pull me up and down it.”

“That doesn’t seem like it’ll work.” Renjun pressed a finger to his lips as if he was thinking very deeply. “Is there science to back it up? Is this a regular track exercise?”

“Trust me, boss. I’m on the basketball team. I know everything there is to know about exercise.”

“You were also on the bench the whole game,” Renjun muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Chenle ignored him again, picked up the black handle of the wagon, and began to walk it towards the hill.

Once they arrived at the bottom, Chenle stepped into the bed of the wagon, having to curl his knees up to his chest to do so. He barely fit. He pulled on the helmet and snapped it under his chin. “All set,” he announced, slapping the side of the wagon giddily.

Renjun took the handle and gave it a tentative pull. Chenle was heavy. Yoorim had always told Renjun that he had “noodle arms,” which he had scoffed at. He preferred to think of himself as elegantly slender, and took pride in it. However, his slenderness would do him no good now. He tugged again, and the wheels skidded forward a couple inches.

It wasn’t a tall hill, or even an especially steep one, but it looked much more intimidating than usual all of a sudden. Renjun planted his feet more firmly against the concrete and heaved back, dragging the wagon further.

 _Was the sun this bright when we started?_ Renjun wondered. It was beating down on him like he was an ant beneath a magnifying glass. This was bad enough, but from the wagon Chenle was shouting, “Come on! Put your back into it!” and Renjun really wanted to pull down and snap the strap on the bottom of his helmet, but he knew beating the mile was of greatest importance. He groaned and gave another desperate pull.

“Move!” Chenle roared. “Faster! Do you want this or not?”

“What happened to ‘boss’ this, ‘boss’ that?” Renjun grumbled.

The top of the hill was coming into view. Renjun’s legs were shaking with the effort it took to haul Chenle the final stretch.

“You got this!” Chenle cheered. “Just a few more feet!”

Renjun’s foot fell at the crest. He could see down the other side, where the road turned a corner by a yard with a picnic table out front. Relieved, he sank to his knees and released the handle of the wagon. If he could do _that,_ he could do the mile no problem.

“Wait —” Chenle called from behind him. “Renjun, get the handle —”

Renjun scrambled back around just as the wagon began to roll backwards. His fingers grazed the handle but found no purchase. Chenle screamed, and his scream got more distant as he dipped away like he was on a rollercoaster, blonde hair whipping into his eyes beneath his helmet. The wagon hit the curb, and he flew out of it in an impressive arc, landing face down in the grass.

Renjun sped after him despite his fatigue (it was much easier going down than up), stooping down beside his motionless body. “Are you alright?” he asked, jabbing Chenle in the side.

Chenle rolled over. His mouth was full of dirt, which he spat out. It landed wetly on his chin. “I’m alive,” he confirmed.

“Good thinking with the helmet.”

“Thank you, boss,” Chenle responded hoarsely.

Renjun laid down on the grass beside him, waiting for the aching to fade in his arms and legs. He felt stronger already. Like he could achieve anything. He smiled to himself.

“Ready for round two?” Chenle asked.

Renjun’s smile fell as quickly as it had risen.

—

P.E. was after lunch on Monday. The teacher was not there; instead, a paper was taped to the gym door that said _MEET OUT ON THE TRACK._

Renjun and Yoorim crossed the grass to the track circle. It was a nice day, partly cloudy, unusually warm for late October. Perfect running weather. Through the track gate, the rest of their class was beginning to assemble. Jeno stood with some of the basketball team boys, stretching on the turf. When he saw Renjun walk onto the track, he smiled in his direction. Renjun responded with a cool, dignified lifting of his chin.

Undeterred, Jeno came over. “Hey,” he said. “You ready to race?”

“Yes, and ready to win,” Renjun responded.

“Well, then. Can’t wait to see it. Don’t overexert yourself.”

Renjun puffed his cheeks and sat down on the turf to stretch his hamstrings. Yoorim sat beside him, minus the stretching, and said, “I see you’re in serious mode again. What happened to the good old days? When battling Jeno was your pride and joy?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like you’re having that much fun anymore.”

“I’m fine.” She was right, but Renjun didn’t want to admit it. Before the election, his tristes with Jeno had been competitive, but mostly good-natured. It was fun to bicker and jab, maybe because as soon as they were done, they’d simply go on with their day and pick it up again some other time. Student council was an investment. They saw more of each other and knew each other better. The teasing was more consequential when they had something that resembled a real relationship.

Sometimes, it got under his skin.

_Don’t overexert yourself._

Renjun didn’t like it. It was as if Jeno didn’t think he was capable of doing well.

“You sure you’re fine?” Yoorim asked carefully.

“I’m fabulous. I’m just getting in the zone, alright?”

“Alright,” she said and, sensing he wasn’t in the mood to talk, wandered off to chat with some of the other girls.

A few minutes later, the teacher called them all to the starting line.

“When I blow the whistle, you’ll all start. This is about endurance, not speed, so don’t use all your energy up too fast. Top five for boys and top five for girls get their times on the record board. Sound good?”

Everyone answered with a mumbled, “yes.”

“Okay, then. Line up. Make sure you’ve got enough room.”

Renjun moved towards the inside of the track. Jeno was a little ways down, spreading his feet apart in something resembling a runner’s crouch. He seemed totally unbothered, like he could run a mile in his sleep.

“Three, two, one.” The teacher blew the whistle.

Renjun took off from the white line. He was among the fastest pack, who pushed quickly ahead. Behind him, the other students were falling into place, some hovering at a steady jog in the middle, some staying back in a walk, clearly not taking it seriously. Renjun was thankful he’d gotten some practice with Chenle ahead of time, because his body was not as unused to the exercise as he had expected. He felt good. There was a slight breeze, enough to keep him cool as he moved towards the halfway point of the track.

Jeno was ahead of him, running alongside Jaemin. They were too focused on their running to talk to each other, but they stuck close anyway. There were a couple other boys by them, too, the athletic types who usually did well in the mile. Renjun was pleased to find himself not far behind them. It was totally possible for him to place as he’d said, so long as he kept up the pace.

It was after the first lap that the fatigue began to set in.

He’d been running hard. His breaths were getting shallower. The muscles in his legs were beginning to ache, just as they had on the hill. He was sweating like crazy, and was beginning to hate the sun as it beamed down at him, right on his hot face. Meanwhile, Jeno seemed to barely care, still running at exactly the same pace as he’d started with. Jaemin had fallen back a little. He turned his head, saw Renjun a few feet behind him, and grinned.

“Hey!” he called. “Nice job, Huang.”

Renjun ignored him. Mostly because he wasn’t sure he could get enough air to produce words.

“Don’t usually see you up this far. Someone light a fire under your ass?”

He was joking, but Renjun furrowed his brow and forced himself on ahead. Jaemin shrugged and kept running.

Lap two, complete. Halfway done. Renjun had to repeat this over and over in his brain in order to keep his motivation alive, because by now his thighs were absolutely killing him. He could feel himself slowing down, no matter how hard he willed himself forward. He simply wasn’t built for this kind of exertion, and deep down, he’d known it, but now it was making itself completely obvious.

A few of the boys who had been behind him through the entire run were overtaking him. There were at least eight people ahead of him now.

 _So much for top five_ , he thought, angry with himself. Part of him wanted to call it quits right then, since there was no way for him to win, but he thought that would be even more embarrassing than simply losing, so he trudged on, feeling like there were weights tied to his ankles. He stared down at the track, hoping it would pass the time more quickly than if he simply stared at the finish line and willed it closer.

He entered the final lap. When he looked back up, he was surprised to see Jeno beside him.

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly.

“You look tired,” Jeno said. “You ought to slow down a little.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m being serious. You don’t want to hurt yourself or something.”

“Shut up, Jeno.” Renjun looked back down. He could see a drop of his sweat hit the rubber of the track.

“We’ll call the bet off. You don’t have to make top five.”

“Stop patronizing me, alright?” Renjun snapped. “Go back to where you were and take your first place.”

Jeno didn’t leave, as if he was too shocked to. He lingered, watching Renjun warily. Renjun refused to look up again.

More people passed him and Jeno. He felt small among them, like all the effort he’d made had not been worth it. He was insignificant. He was not built to succeed at such a thing.

Frustrated, he dredged up the last of his strength and pulled ahead of Jeno. He wasn't running away, he told himself, just trying to reach that finish line. It was not that far away, and in just a minute or so he could cross it, finally lay down at the side of track, take in full, deep breath for the first time in —

He ran so fast — faster than his brain could keep up with — that his feet slipped, an ankle rolling beneath him, his face hitting the rubber.

The kids surrounding him slowed down to let out a concerned _oof_. Jeno skidded to a stop. The gym teacher handed his clipboard and stopwatch to Jaemin, who’d just crossed the finish line, and ran to meet Renjun where he lay motionless on the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Renjun raised a pitiful thumbs-up.

“Can you stand?”

Arms shaking, he pushed himself to his knees, then tried to go further. A jolt of pain shot up his left leg from his ankle, and he grimaced.

“Doesn’t look good,” the teacher murmured. He turned back to the other students. “One of you who’s all done — could you bring Renjun to the nurse’s office?”

“I will.” Jeno stepped in.

“You still have to finish your mile.”

Jeno slipped his hands under Renjun’s arms and lifted him up to standing. “My time’s already ruined anyway. I’ll come in during my study hall for another run.”

The teacher seemed to realize that Jeno wouldn’t budge. He scratched his cheek and stood aside.

Renjun could look down at himself now, and saw that the fronts of his shins were completely torn up and bleeding. He couldn’t put any weight on his bad ankle. Gently, Jeno rested one of Renjun’s arms over his shoulders and led him out through the track gate.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Renjun said under his breath. Even with Jeno supporting him, walking hurt. The ground was uneven beneath the grass; he took a wrong step, and his ankle rolled again. He let out a small, pained whimper and nearly fell forward.

“Hey.” Jeno stopped moving. “You really got your ankle good, huh?”

“Yeah,” Renjun agreed sorely. He kind of wanted to cry, but he would rather have died than cry in front of Jeno, of all people.

“Here.” Jeno stepped ahead and crouched down. “Get on.”

“What.”

“Get on,” he repeated. “On my back.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t walk. Swallow your pride and do it.”

Renjun muttered something about how he wasn’t a little kid and how completely insulting the gesture was, but got on anyway. He wrapped his arms around Jeno’s neck, while Jeno placed his hands beneath Renjun’s legs to hold him steady. Once they were in proper piggyback position, Jeno started walking again. He didn’t seem that bothered by the weight. Renjun hugged him a little tighter, trying to focus all his brain power to his midsection so he could feel what Jeno’s back might be like under his shirt. It seemed pretty solid. Muscle-y. Renjun blushed and rested his chin on Jeno’s shoulder.

“I told you to be careful,” Jeno mused.

“I wanted to win.”

“Sometimes winning isn’t that important.”

“It’s important to me.”

He breathed in. Jeno smelled like sweat, of course, but he found he didn’t mind it that much. It was a nice kind of sweaty smell. Very boy-like, but not sour or stinky. More like, _natural._ Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Renjun decided it was rather creepy for him to be assessing the smell of another boy’s sweat and started breathing through his mouth instead.

It took a couple minutes to get from the track to the school building. Jeno awkwardly pushed open a door with one hand and held it with his foot so he could shuffle through. They were close to the nurse’s office, so Renjun did not have to feel embarrassed at the chance of being seen on Jeno’s back for long before they were alone again in the empty room.

“Where’s the nurse?” Renjun asked.

“I dunno. Guess she stepped out for a minute.” He lowered himself beside one of the beds so Renjun could get off. There was a box of bandaids inside a glass-doored cabinet. Jeno retrieved and opened it.

“Shouldn’t we wait for her?”

“Nah. She knows me well from Red Cross Club. She won’t mind if I use her bandaids.” Jeno took out a few of the biggest ones and set them on the table. Renjun’s cuts went from knee to mid-shin. He needed a lot of coverage.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” Renjun said.

“Yeah. Can’t help you with that.” Jeno grabbed the bottle of cleansing spray from the counter, came back, and spritzed Renjun a few times. The alcohol in it stung.

“Ouch, ouch,” Renjun weakly swatted Jeno’s hand away. “You should have warned me first. That hurts.”

“It’s for your own good.” Jeno pulled up a chair in front of Renjun, placed a hand under his calf, and with the other began to dab at the blood with a cloth.

“I can do it myself,” Renjun said. Jeno did not respond. His hand was firm but gentle where it gripped him. Renjun felt strange at being babied, but awed at the intimacy of it, too, as if Jeno had no qualms about being this close and this caring. His face was downturned as he worked. Renjun noticed for the first time that his eyelashes were long, mascara-long but without mascara. Renjun thought he’d never seen a boy with eyelashes that long before. He was a little fascinated by it, but he tried to think about something, _anything_ else.

“You should have kept running,” he said.

“It’s okay.” Jeno peeled the backs from one of the bandaids. He laid it over the space below Renjun’s knee. His fingertips brushed Renjun’s skin, and it tickled.

“No it’s not. You were going to come in first, before you slowed down.”

“I don’t care about that stuff.” His lips turned up, and he added, “Not the same way you do. If I did, I’d have left you there like an asshole.”

“Are you calling me an asshole?”

“No. I think you’re much sweeter than you let on.” He let out a little chuckle, and added, “I think you’re a softie, beneath all the class president stuff.”

“Oh,” Renjun said.

“Sorry. I’m just teasing you.”

Renjun frowned. He didn’t like the way it felt. He pulled his leg away from Jeno’s touch.

“I wish you wouldn’t say some of the stuff you do,” he said.

Jeno could tell this wasn’t a joke. He could tell he was treading on the edge of a line. “I thought you liked it when we bicker,” he responded. “You know. When we pick at each other — I thought it was just for fun.”

“It is. But sometimes you say things and I don’t know what to think. Calling me soft... or when you said my marching band uniform was ‘cute’ — it felt like you were making fun of me.” Renjun’s cheeks flushed. He knew that Jeno was not trying to be mean-spirited. But it still felt like the very same shit he’d been hearing all his life from the rest of the straight, jockish boys in his class. He thought of the chiding, insidious remarks about his clothes, like the time in seventh grade he’d been wearing the pink pom-pom hat his grandmother had knitted him and another boy had snickered and told him, “nice look, girl,” then yanked it off his head and tossed it into a snowdrift. Or the time in sixth, when he’d been so absorbed in _Black Beauty_ that he’d been reading it and walking down the hall at the same time. He’d tripped over his own feet and dropped the book with a smack. And another boy, instead of picking it up, had kicked it as hard as he could in the other direction. It had dinged off the bottoms of the walls like a hockey puck, and when Renjun had finally retrieved it, all the corners were bent and broken.

And then there was the endless terror of eighth, where one day he’d been washing his hands in the boy’s bathroom and a classmate had snatched his cellphone from his back pants pocket. Renjun had panicked and begged him to give it back. The boy had responded by calling him a word that began with an _F_ and always ended with Renjun in tears, and promptly dumped the phone into one of the toilets. He hit the flush, making the too-large phone rattle against the inside of the bowl. Renjun had had to roll up his sleeves and pull it out. It had been completely fried, screen black.

Jeno’s mouth was open in surprise. Gently, he said, “I was being sincere.”

Renjun blinked. “You were?”

“I thought you looked nice in your uniform — that’s what I meant by it. But if you don’t want me to say that kind of stuff anymore, I won’t. And I won’t tease you anymore, either.”

Renjun’s cheeks flushed harder. It hadn’t crossed his mind for a second that Jeno might have been really meant it. He was too programmed to see it as an insult. Now that he knew better, he felt ridiculous. Getting mad over nothing, calling Jeno out for an act of kindness. Jeno deserved better than that.

“No,” he said. “I like it.”

“What?”

“I like it when you tease me. So, don’t stop.”

Jeno hesitated, then smiled. His hand fell onto Renjun’s knee, so softly that Renjun wanted to lean into the touch, or put his own hand on top if it so it couldn’t move away.

He thought this too slowly. The door swung open as the nurse entered. Jeno pulled his hand back and stood. “Hey,” he said. “Renjun fell on the track. His ankle might be sprained.”

“Oh, dear.” She set her freshly brewed mug of coffee on the counter. “Thanks, Jeno. You can head back to class, if you want. I’ll take care of him from here.”

Jeno nodded. Before walking away, he ruffled Renjun’s hair, and said, “You’re a better runner than I thought.” He left, and the door fell shut behind him.

Renjun knew Jeno had meant it, and his heart made a heavy _thump, thump, thump_ in answer. He flattened his hair, still red-faced and short of breath as though he'd just run another mile as the nurse crossed to his bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this...... REAL PROGRESS???? 🤔🤔🤔
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	7. Halloween

Renjun stood outside of the AP Government room right after the end-of-day bell rang. They’d just had their first proper test of the year last week, and now he was clutching the returned and graded version of it in his hands, bouncing eagerly on his feet.

Jeno swung out of the classroom door. He saw Renjun standing there and grinned.

“What did you get?” he asked.

“No, you first.”

“Fine.” Jeno held up his own test so Renjun could see it. “Ninety-five.”

“Ninety-five!” Renjun exclaimed. “Jeno, you’ve really let yourself go!”

“Ah, come on. It was a hard test. Don’t tell me you got a hundred.”

Renjun dramatically whipped his test around. A red one-hundred was circled at the top. “Hell yeah I did.”

“Oh my god.” Jeno let his arms and paper slump in defeat, head thrown back with a groan. “I really thought I had it this time.”

“Think again. I am undefeatable.”

“Fine, then.” Jeno leaned against one of the hallway lockers, sulky but smiling, and said, “I know you want to do your victory dance. Let’s see it.”

The victory dance, which Jeno was quite familiar with at this point, was similar to the Cabbage Patch but with an additional jump and flourish at the end. A few of the other students side-eyed Renjun as he performed it, but there was no holding back a victory dance when it was warranted. Jeno laughed, a laugh so clear and soft and low that it nearly made Renjun stumble backwards at the fall of his jump, and he hurriedly steadied himself with a hand against a locker door. Then he started laughing too, because it was hard to hear a laugh like Jeno’s and not join in. The simultaneous laughter lasted a few seconds, long enough that it began to be obvious and a little awkward (more stares by passersby ensued), though neither of them minded.

“Well,” Jeno finally said. “I’ve gotta run to the bathroom before the student council meeting. Meet you there?”

“Okay.”

Jeno walked away down the hall. Renjun watched him leave, so focused he didn’t notice Yoorim as she slunk out the classroom door behind him and said, “You two seem to be getting along well lately.”

Renjun startled and put a hand against the locker again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. I told you before that you guys seemed kind of serious, with the election and the blood drive and the mile run. But it looks like you’re back to having fun again, so that’s good.”

Renjun smiled to himself. He felt like things were back to how they’d been before the election — good-natured ribbing and healthy competition. No more getting stuck in his own head about every little thing or reading too deeply into lighthearted gestures. He finally felt that he and Jeno could simply be —

“It’s nice that you guys are friends now.”

“We aren’t friends. We’re —” He remembered what Jeno had said when they’d run into each other near his house. “ _Work colleagues._ ”

“Is that what you call it?” Yoorim asked skeptically.

Renjun humphed and turned away, marching off towards the student council room. Yoorim trailed behind, _tsk_ ing under her breath.

It was a few minutes before Jeno returned from the bathroom, then several more minutes before Donghyuck came in dragging his feet, then a worrying amount of time before Mrs. Jang finally showed up, thumping her coffee mug on the front desk and sitting down beside it.

“Something tells me she’s already sick of us,” Yoorim whispered.

“Not of me, surely,” Renjun objected.

“Well…”

“Okay, so —” Mrs. Jang interrupted, clapping her hands together with so little enthusiasm it made a pathetic _pff_ instead of a proper crack. “I suppose the next thing coming up for us is Halloween. It isn’t a fundraiser, but the school usually leaves the senior class officers in charge of the costume contest.”

Renjun immediately switched from sitting normally, to sitting perched on top of his feet so he could lean all the way over the table to express his enthusiasm. “We’re still doing it this year, then?”

Last year, the Halloween contest had been the subject of much controversy when the senior student council members themselves had been awarded the top prize for their M&M mascot costumes. Whispers of rigging and bias had swept the student body, to the point that the principal had promised to launch a full-scale investigation, only to default back to the original announcement and let the four seniors walk away with a twenty-five dollar Amazon gift card each. It was never truly determined whether the claims of rigging were true or not, but it had left a sour taste in everyone’s mouths.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jang said. “Though this year, the student council has been cautiously and preemptively disqualified.”

Donghyuck rolled back his head in annoyance. “That’s not fair.”

“Well, you guys are the ones in charge of the tally. So we didn’t really have a choice.”

The costume contest was held during the lunch periods in the middle of the school day. Anyone who wanted to enter would be photographed, then the photos would be sent to all the school’s faculty, who would vote for their favorites and send them back. The final tally would be done, and the winners would be declared on the end-of-day announcements.

“It’s up to you guys how you want to split up the work,” Mrs. Jang continued. “And if you have any questions, you can just shoot me an email. Okay?” Before anyone answered her, she swept her mug back off the desk and hightailed out of the room. Renjun half-expected to find a Roadrunner-esque cloud of dust in her wake.

“Okay, maybe she _is_ getting sick of us,” Renjun conceded.

“Anyway. Who wants to be in charge of the contest photos?” Yoorim took out her notebook as usual and began to take down her notes. “I think there should be at least two of us there. It can get a little hectic.”

“Me!” Renjun burst out as if it was a race, though no one else offered any competition.

“Okay.”

“I’ll do it, too,” Jeno said.

“Great. Then one of us has to sort and compile the photos into a document, label it with names, and email it out to all the faculty.” Yoorim tapped the end of her pen against the paper, and raised a brow in Donghyuck’s direction.

“That sounds like a lot of work,” he said.

“And?”

“Sounds like something beyond my capabilities.”

Yoorim rolled her eyes. She had the most expressive eye-roll Renjun knew, complete with eyelash fluttering and a raised lip. “Fine. I can do that part. Which leaves you with the tally. All you have to do is count up all the votes from the teachers, and send them in to the main office. Surely you know how to count. Or maybe that’s beyond your capabilities, too.”

“Oof,” Jeno said.

“I can count,” Donghyuck muttered. “I’ll do that part.”

“Great.” Yoorim scribbled something down, clicked her pen with authority, and folded her notebook closed.

“Oh, while we’re here —” Renjun slapped a hand down on Donghyuck’s desk before he could grab his bag and flee. “We should decide on our Halloween costumes.”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asked.

“Well, the council members usually do a group costume. Last year, we did the Wizard of Oz.”

“Wizard of Oz?” Jeno, suddenly interested, leaned in on his elbows.

“Yeah. Yoorim was Dorothy and our secretary was the Tinman and our treasurer was the Scarecrow. And I was the Cowardly Lion. Don’t you remember? I painted my nose black and had the ears and everything.” Renjun held up his hands up at the sides of his head, miming it.

“The Lion…” Jeno squinted, as if he was pained at not being able to remember. “You don’t happen to have any photos, do you? Just so I could see. For inspiration,” he added quickly.

“Maybe somewhere. But the point is that we should choose a four-person costume so we can all match. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

“It’s better if it’s something simple,” Yoorim said, “since Halloween is only two days away. And it has to be appropriate. No weapons or fake blood.”

Donghyuck, who’d raised his hand like he might have actually had an idea, quietly lowered it at this last point.

“We could be the Mystery Gang,” Renjun said, lighting up at the thought. “I could even ask the principal if I could bring Inky in as our Scooby! I could sew her a little spotted costume.”

“You already tried to bring her to school once, don’t you remember?” Yoorim rested her cheek on her palm with a sideways smile. “Freshman year you sent the principal a lengthy letter asking the school if they could honor national Bring Your Dog To Work Day. And he said ‘the school is not your workplace.’”

“Then what’s he call the student council?” Renjun huffed to himself. “A hobby?”

“That was a good idea,” Jeno offered in consolation.

“I know.” Renjun drummed his fingers on his desk. Now his mind was racing with childhood TV show characters. Something that wasn’t too elaborate, something arts-and-crafts-able, something he would not have to grovel for permission to the higher-ups for. There were the Flintstones, but cavemen were decidedly uncute and unfashionable. Maybe they could do Blue’s Clues? But that was too many characters, and Renjun could not imagine a way to create an elegant and well-executed Sidetable Drawer costume —

“Oh,” he said. “What about the Teletubbies?”

“We can’t exactly spend all day in huge felt suits,” Jeno said.

“No. But we could dress from head to toe in different colors and put pipe cleaners on our heads.”

“You know,” Yoorim murmured, “that’s actually kind of cute.”

“Isn’t it? And we could tape pieces of paper to our shirts like the TV screens.”

“I am not coming to school as a Teletubby,” Donghyuck objected. “I’d be bullied for the rest of my life. And possibly long after I die.”

“Oh, come on. It’s only one day.”

Donghyuck sighed, seeming to realize that argument was futile. He’d made his bed the moment he’d agreed to his nomination. “Can I at least choose what Teletubby I am? I refuse to be a girl.”

“No. Teletubbies will be assigned roughly according to height,” Renjun said. “Which means Jeno is Tinky-Winky, Donghyuck is Dipsy, Yoorim is Lala, and I will be Po.”

“I don’t know which one is Tinky-Winky,” Jeno said.

Renjun shot Yoorim a look which said _we are surrounded by idiots,_ and carefully answered, “He is the purple one, Jeno. He has a triangle on his head. He is an icon.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you own a purple shirt and pants?”

“Does _anyone_ own purple pants?”

“Well, you’d better get to shopping.” Renjun plucked his backpack off the floor. “Everyone get your clothes together for Wednesday, then stop at my locker in the morning to get your pipe cleaner headbands. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Jeno and Yoorim said.

“Perfect.” With that, Renjun practically danced out of the room. Halloween was one of his favorite days of the year, and for him, it would begin early — the moment he got home, dragging his art supplies from his desk drawer.

—

Renjun arrived at school that Wednesday dressed head to toe in red — red sweater, red jeans he’d gotten from Hot Topic in the 9th grade during his alternative phase that miraculously still fit, and his red high-tops. At his locker, he taped a paper to his belly and pulled his headband from his backpack and put it on, checking how it looked in his locker mirror. He’d made the four of them last night in his room by gluing bent pipe cleaners to thin bands he’d picked up at the drugstore. He’d even coated the pipe cleaners in colored glitter to really make them pop. Some of it had fallen off onto his carpet and Inky had run over to try and lick it up. She’d been banned from his bedroom for the rest of the night; she’d had to be brought to the vet after eating spilled arts supplies too many times.

Yoorim showed up shortly after, similarly dressed in a yellow turtleneck and yellow corduroy skirt. She took her headband, examined it, and said, “You really went all out.”

“Well. Even if we can’t enter the costume contest, we still have to look good, right?”

“Before you say anything, this was as close to purple as I could get.”

They both looked up to see Jeno coming down the hall. He wore a purple tee, but his pants were a maroon-ish color and slightly too long, so the cuffs rubbed against the tile floor. “I went to three places looking for purple pants, but they didn’t have any. I found these at the thrift store.”

“I appreciate the commitment, at least,” Renjun said. “You get a pass. Here’s your headband —”

Jeno reached over and flicked the antenna on Renjun’s head.

“Don’t do that,” Renjun said. “You’re getting glitter everywhere.”

“Sorry.” Jeno pulled his hand back, though it seemed to take a great amount of restraint to do so.

“Has anyone seen Donghyuck?” Yoorim asked.

Jeno pointed towards the lobby. “Isn’t that him over there?”

It was Donghyuck. But he was not wearing all green. Instead, he was wearing plasticy red armor with gold accents and carrying a helmet under his arm, as the school policy explicitly prohibited face coverings (except during the brief moments of costume photos, or when given permission by the teachers). A few of his friends were standing with him, also wearing recognizable getups — Captain America, Thor, a messily attempted Hulk with a fake muscles shirt and green face paint.

“He betrayed us,” Renjun whispered. Before anyone could say something, he marched across the lobby and tapped Donghyuck on the shoulder with an aggressive finger.

“What’s up?” Donghyuck said.

“What the hell is this?”

“I’m Iron Man.”

“Obviously. You said you’d match with the rest of us.”

“I never said that.” Donghyuck jerked his shoulder away. “I never promised anything. There was no way I was gonna come as a freaking Teletubby.” Behind him, a few of his friends were chuckling at Renjun’s costume. Renjun wanted to punch each of them in the nose.

A hand snagged Renjun’s sleeve. It was Yoorim, coolheaded as always. “Don’t even bother with him,” she said. “It’s not worth the time.” She steered him away towards homeroom.

“But it makes us look bad,” he muttered, resignedly going along with her. “It’s obvious that he flaked out on us. Or maybe people will think we left him out of the loop on purpose.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” She pushed open the classroom door, which was covered in fake spiderwebs and construction paper candy corns. “Besides, they all looked lame. Store-bought costumes and streaky makeup. One of them was even wearing flip flops.” She patted her belly TV over her yellow turtleneck. “At least we got the creative edge. Especially with your glittery headbands.”

“You’re right,” Renjun agreed. The fastest way to reassure him was always obvious flattery. “He’ll be sorry he backstabbed us.”

“That’s the spirit.” She set her backpack on her desk and unzipped the big pocket. “Now, do you want one of my pumpkin sugar cookies?”

Flattery, and then food. Yoorim truly knew him better than anyone.

—

At the beginning of the first lunch period, Renjun and Jeno set up their costume contest table in the front lobby. They hung a suitably spooky backdrop on the wall for the photos (a crooked mansion in silhouette with a full moon above it) and put their heads together to try and fix the settings for their camera, which they’d borrowed from the photography club. They had a laptop, too, which they’d rented from the library and had open on their table to organize their shots. It felt almost like they were professional photographers, Renjun thought, despite neither of them having any idea what they were doing. It didn’t matter, anyway. It was just fun to figure things out together, to watch Jeno fiddle with the lens and say, “For once, the famous West Gardens ceiling cobwebs and hallway dust bunnies will be a nice touch.”

The first few groups of students wandered in, getting in line for their photos. They made a decent crowd, so Renjun didn’t notice at first as an uncostumed body pushed through them, sidling up to the table with a smirk.

“Hello, boys,” the student said.

Renjun knew that voice. He looked up from the laptop and frowned. “Hello, Yangyang.”

Liu Yangyang was a boy with lots of teeth and a camera constantly clipped at the band around his neck. He was an editor on the yearbook committee as well as the president of the newspaper club, which published the weekly West Gardens Chronicle. Renjun thought the word “newspaper” was a stretch, because it was more like a sleazy tabloid. For years its sensationalist offerings — rumors about students, rumors about teachers, rumors about what mysterious treasures the custodians hid in the school basement — had escaped the notice of the staff. That was until Mr. Choi, apparently the only person in the school faculty who bothered to read it, had opened a copy to discover a story about himself, which had suggested that the reason his wife had left him was because he was a gambling addict who had lost all their savings and caused him to take a mortgage out on their house. Affronted, he’d brought it to the principal, who had given it a once-over and punished the newspaper club with a slap on the wrist. No more stories about school staff, he’d declared.

This did not stop them from continuing to run headlines about the student body. Just last week, the front page story had been “The Girls’ Soccer Team: Part of a Secret Society?” and included a blown-up image of them edited to include the illuminati eye symbol on their jerseys.

“I hope you don’t mind if I snap some photos myself,” Yangyang said sweetly, tapping a finger on the shutter button.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Renjun responded stiffly. “This is a student council event.”

“I won’t be in your way.”

Jeno, who didn’t seem to know what Renjun was so cautious for but could pick up on the mood, butted in, “We could just send you the photos we take.”

“Nah. You guys aren’t professionals.” Yangyang grinned, showing his sharp canines. “I prefer to use my more polished shots.”

Renjun sighed. Technically, he couldn’t tell Yangyang to get lost, so long as the other students were consenting to having their photos taken. He bit the inside of his cheek and waved the first group of students to stand in front of the backdrop.

“What’s the matter?” Jeno whispered, bending to Renjun’s ear as Renjun raised his camera.

“I don’t like the newspaper club,” he murmured.

“I didn’t even know West Gardens had a newspaper club.”

“You’re lucky, then. They’re a sham.” Renjun’s biggest fear had always been appearing in the school newspaper. He hated rumors. He’d suffered enough of them in middle school. Thankfully, high school had been much better as people had gotten more mature. But he couldn’t help but still be afraid of someone running his reputation into the ground, especially since he was the senior class president. He had a big legacy to uphold.

Characters from Game of Thrones, Super Mario, and Fullmetal Alchemist slowly streamed through the contest area. Donghyuck’s friends came for photos too (of course without the disqualified Donghyuck) and posed lazily in their costumes. As Renjun and Jeno took their photos, Yangyang annoyingly performed his theatrics beside them, turning his camera sideways, kneeling on one knee for a better shot, occasionally holding his chin in his hand and going “hmm” for several seconds as he appraised his work, making the subjects stand awkwardly as they waited to be told they could leave.

Renjun was not truly impressed by any of the costumes until a group of art club kids dressed as the Addams Family took their places in front of the backdrop. They’d clearly put a lot of detail into their makeup, and the girl dressed as Morticia said they’d sewn all their outfits themselves, pointing to her prettily and purposefully tattered hem. Renjun thought they could have made good movie actors for the roles, aside from them all being high school age, and smiled as he looked at their photo in his camera screen.

“Wow,” Jeno said. “They were really good. Think they’ll win?”

“Probably. The Addams Family is an old show too, so I bet the teachers will like it a lot.”

Jeno kept hovering next to him, and Renjun realized he was staring not at the camera anymore, but at his face. Self-consciously, Renjun adjusted his bangs, and asked, “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah. Glitter. From the headband.”

“Oh. Where?” Renjun quickly wiped at his forehead with his sleeve. “Did I get it?”

“No — it’s on your cheek.” Jeno reached and placed his index finger under Renjun’s chin, tilting his face up so he could wipe at the glitter with his thumb. Renjun’s heart shook unexpectedly, and he hoped Jeno couldn’t feel how warm his cheeks were getting.

“Got it,” Jeno said softly.

“Thanks,” Renjun exhaled. Jeno’s thumb still hovered near the corner of his mouth.

There was the snap of a shutter.

They both turned and saw Yangyang with his camera raised and pointed right at them.

“Uh,” Renjun said as Jeno’s hand jerked away. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just capturing the moment,” Yangyang answered nonchalantly. He checked his work, and added, “This might make a nice article.”

“Don’t —” Renjun held out a useless hand, wishing he could snatch the camera and break it on the floor, but that was a surefire way to get himself suspended. “Don’t use that. Delete it.”

“Why? It’s a nice picture.”

“Because I know you’ll write something weird about it —”

The bell rang. Yangyang shrugged, let his camera drop to hang at his neck, and said, “Well, I’m off to class. Goodbye, boys!” He ran down the hall before Renjun could leap and strangle him with his camera cord.

“Well, he’s creepy,” Jeno said. “I get what you mean about the newspaper club now.”

Renjun’s heart was still beating fast, but with anxiety. He didn’t want to know what Yangyang planned to do with that photo. And he didn’t like the way Jeno didn’t seem to be nearly as bothered by it as he was. But maybe it was better off that way. Maybe it meant that Jeno didn’t think the gesture had meant anything more than just a friend helping a friend. _Not that it does,_ Renjun reprimanded himself. _Not that I want it to mean anything._

Jeno took the camera, and once again plucked the antenna on Renjun’s head. Renjun had to smile at it, just for a moment, before remembering how dangerous that kind of thing could be, and he hurried to get the laptop, shutting it so hard he had to double-check that he didn’t crack the screen.

—

Renjun and Yoorim ate their lunch together at their usual table in the cafeteria. They stayed at one end, and the other end belonged to some freshmen they usually ignored. It was mostly a peaceful, neutral territory, except the one time the freshmen had tried to fill the whole table with their noisy friends, and Renjun and Yoorim had scolded them with empty threats such as, “Don’t you know about Senior Privilege? It means you have to let us sit where we want or the lunch ladies will come and curse you out,” and the half-table boundary had been respected ever since.

Yoorim had the laptop open in front of her, and gave a final click. “There,” she said. “Costume contest email sent to the teachers. I’ll hand the laptop off to Donghyuck after lunch so he can do the tally.”

Renjun, who sat with his forehead pressed to the lunch table, responded unintelligibly.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen a Halloween Renjun with such low energy.”

“Oh, Yoorim,” he groaned. “Everything is terrible.”

“Tell me all the details, babe,” she said, patting the back of his head.

Reluctantly, he looked up at her and perched his chin on his crossed arms. “Yangyang was at the costume contest photoshoot. And he — he snapped a, uh… incriminating photo.”

“Sounds juicy. What was the nature of this photo, exactly?”

“Just, uh. Me and Jeno, kind of… being close?”

“‘Close?’ Like, making out in the middle of the lobby or something?”

Renjun smacked her hand on top of the table. “Of course not, weirdo. There was something on my face and he was getting it for me.”

“Sure,” she said.

“I’m being serious. Anyway, Yangyang took a photo of us and now he’s gonna run it in the newspaper with some kind of weird headline and completely ruin my squeaky clean track record for school gossip.”

Yoorim laughed. “What kind of headline? That you two are dating? First of all, I don’t know why that would bother you anyway, since you’ve been out and proud since eighth grade. Second, it isn’t true, so who cares what he says? _Third_ , no one reads the school newspaper. No one will ever even see his bullshit story.”

“It just makes me feel weird, okay?” Renjun took his headband off and straightened his pipe cleaner. A bit of glitter sprinkled onto the table. “I don’t want Jeno to see it and start to feel weird about hanging out with me. Plus, it wouldn’t look good if people thought the president and vice president were a couple, right? Like it’s an abuse of power or something.”

“I don’t think any person reads that deeply into student council politics. May I refer you again to point three?”

Renjun jutted his bottom lip.

“Don’t make that face,” Yoorim sighed. “It’s too pitiful.”

“I’m sad,” he responded. “I can look however I want.”

Weakened by his act, Yoorim tried more diplomatically, “Well, why don’t you try talking to Yangyang again? Maybe he’ll reconsider if you tell him how you feel.”

Renjun looked across the cafeteria. Yangyang was sitting alone at a circular table, camera out, flicking through his photos as he ate an apple with his other hand. It was as good a time as any.

Renjun got up from the bench and walked over to Yangyang’s table.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Coolly, as if he didn’t know what Renjun wanted, Yangyang set his apple on the table and said, “What’s up, Huang?”

“That photo you took earlier of me and Jeno. Would you mind deleting it? I don’t really want that to go in the Chronicle.”

Continuing to play dumb, Yangyang made his eyes go innocently round and said in a high voice, “What? Why? It’s just a photo.”

Renjun gulped. “Yes, but I know you’re gonna write an awful story to go with it. About how me and him are secretly dating or something, and that just isn’t the case. I don’t think you should be spreading false rumors about people.”

“If it’s a false rumor,” Yangyang said slowly, “then it shouldn’t bother you, should it?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why are you so adamant that I delete it if it isn’t real?” Yangyang leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “Seems to me like you’re trying to hide something. So then it wouldn’t be false reporting at all. Plus, dating scoops are always the most popular among the Chronicle’s readers. I can’t just pass it up.”

Renjun felt suddenly chilly, like he’d come down with the flu. He rubbed his palms, and found them damp. “Are — are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Me and Jeno aren’t dating.”

Yangyang resumed eating his apple and stared down at his camera display.

Renjun went back to his seat, and let his forehead touch the table again.

—

Mr. Choi was sipping his tea at his desk. His desk was right in the middle of the library, as it gave him the ability to pick up on tomfoolery occuring in any corner of the stacks, which he could promptly extinguish by getting up and slapping a hardback threateningly against a shelf. Renjun considered himself lucky to have never experienced that version of Mr. Choi firsthand. 

Presently, the librarian was looking down at a copy of that week’s Chronicle. The frontpage story was “The Literature Club’s Cruel and Unusual Hazing Ritual,” and showed a photo of the lit club sitting quietly in their designated classroom while bent over _A Picture of Dorian Gray._ Renjun was not quite sure how Yangyang managed to spin that one, but he was sure the article was a wild ride from beginning to end.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Renjun,” Mr. Choi said, sipping idly at his tea. “There’s not really anything you can do at this point besides let the story run.”

Renjun picked at the corner of his Teletubby screen, where the paper had gotten a tiny tear. He’d been hoping that Mr. Choi, in his eternal wisdom, might have some useful advice to offer him. “I just hate rumors,” he murmured. “They’re so nasty. It isn’t anyone else’s business about people’s personal lives.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Choi told him, “but humans are naturally interested in things they know they shouldn’t be privy to. Why do you think celebrity tabloids are such a big industry? Yangyang’s profiting on the same sort of instinctual nosiness.”

“Isn’t there a way to stop him?” Renjun’s voice cracked desperately. “Shouldn’t the school step in and shut it down?”

“You can try. But they’ve already done this once before, and the Chronicle slipped by then. I don’t see any real action being taken.”

Renjun yanked the copy of the paper out of Mr. Choi’s hand and slipped it into the recycle bin by his desk. “You shouldn’t be reading it, then. You’re helping to support their shady business. Doesn’t it bother you to see that stuff, when you’ve been the target before?”

Mr. Choi’s hand still ghosted where the paper had been as if he couldn’t quite believe Renjun’s boldness to take it, but instead of snapping back he shrugged and sighed against the lip of his cup. “Renjun. Let me tell you something. My wife didn’t leave me because I have a gambling addiction. My wife left me because I’m a boring, forty-something high school librarian with a stagnant career who could no longer offer her the exciting life she was so desperately seeking.”

“TMI,” Renjun said.

“But the point is this. The reason the article bothered me wasn’t because it was untrue. It bothered me because somewhere, there was a kernel of truth in it. One line from it still sticks with me to this day: _Even our authority figures have never progressed past the days of high school drama._ And that was true about my divorce. When love fails like that, everything becomes so, _so_ high school — messy fights and low insults and he-said-she-said. And that’s what struck a nerve with me. Because it felt like part of me I didn’t want people to know about had been seen.”

“But that’s different,” Renjun objected. “The thing about me and Jeno isn’t true at all.”

Mr. Choi took another sip from his tea.

Renjun turned the idea over. Maybe it was true that something about it had struck a nerve with him. It wasn’t just about the rumors or his drama-free track record. It was the implication. He and Jeno had just gone back to feeling normal around each other, and now Yangyang was going to spread a rumor, and it would make things awkward all over again. Renjun had learned in the past that straight boys did not like even the notion of closeness with other boys. What if it freaked Jeno out to have that kind of thing circulating? What if it made him shy away from being around Renjun, out of fear that people would be overanalyzing it?

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Mr. Choi suggested.

“Isn’t that what you told me last time?”

“Yes. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Renjun muttered.

“I may be boring,” Mr. Choi said, “but I’m always right.” He bent, pulled his paper back from the bin, and resumed reading where he’d left off.

—

Class ended a few minutes early that afternoon, as the AP Gov teacher gave them time to enjoy the Halloween candies he’d handed out and chitchat. Renjun looked at Jeno across the room, who seemed to be in a perfectly normal mood, writing something in his agenda while Jaemin tried on his Teletubby headband.

Renjun forced himself out of his seat and walked to Jeno’s desk.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Jeno finished what he was writing and looked up. “What’s up?”

Something about the quietness of Jeno’s voice made Renjun braver. “I’ve just been thinking about what happened earlier, and —”

There was a static buzz as the afternoon announcements started on the intercom.

“Good afternoon, West Gardens!” said the cheerful main office lady. “Before you go home for the day, I’m happy to announce this year’s Halloween costume contest winners, each receiving a twenty-five dollar Amazon gift card! Drumroll, please!”

She could not hear it, but about half the kids in the class participated in a very lazy patter of a drumroll on their desks.

“And the winners are: Lee Soomin, Kim Youngtae, Yoon Taewook...”

Renjun blinked. He looked at Jeno, then back across the room at Yoorim.

The announcements faded out.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Yoorim said.

“What?” Jeno asked.

“Those are all of Donghyuck’s friends,” Renjun answered. “The Avengers.”

Jeno realized the implication. “You don’t think he…”

Renjun didn’t wait around. He snapped up his bag as the bell rang and stormed out of the classroom, Yoorim and Jeno hurrying to catch up behind him.

Donghyuck’s car was parked at the edge of the lot closest to the exit. Donghyuck himself was beside it, tossing his stuff into the backseat (including his Iron Man costume) and shutting the door. He did not seem to be in any hurry, which suggested that he had not ever expected his scheme to be discovered, at least not so quickly.

“Lee Donghyuck!” Renjun shouted.

 _This_ set Donghyuck in a hurry, and he yanked at his front door handle and tried to quickly haul himself inside.

“You’d better not drive away, you coward!” Renjun sprinted after him and wriggled between the car and the door before Donghyuck could shut it. He stooped over Donghyuck, who’d fallen back into the driver’s seat, and began to wrestle the keys out of his hands.

“You are completely insane!” Donghyuck screamed as his elbow hit the car horn.

Renjun stepped on Donghyuck’s thigh and used the extra leverage to pry the keys free. There was so much momentum he smacked his hands off the roof of the car, but at least he was victorious. He tossed them out to Yoorim, who caught them.

“Alright, alright —” Donghyuck shoved Renjun out so he could catch his breath. “Jeez, what are you so worked up for?”

“You know exactly what!” Renjun placed a hand on the inside of the door in case Donghyuck tried to close it again. “You rigged the results so your friends would win!”

“You don’t have any proof.”

“There’s no universe in which your goofy friends in their ugly, store-bought costumes win that contest.”

Yoorim stepped in then, nudging her way to stand beside Renjun. “Give me back the laptop,” she said, “and I’ll recount the votes myself.”

Donghyuck snorted in disbelief, and waited for a second as if he thought Yoorim might change her mind. When she didn’t, he clamored over the seat, grabbed the laptop bag, and handed it over. “Here. Next time, tell your rabid dog not to overreact and steal shit from people’s hands. He almost scratched my car.”

Appropriately, Renjun growled in response.

“Renjun —” Jeno called suddenly from the parking lot, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a camera click.

“Well, well,” Yangyang said, slinking around the end of the car. “What’s this?”

“Oh my god,” Yoorim whispered.

“What did I just hear about rigging?” He leaned on Donghyuck’s bumper. “Is this the student council, once again getting embroiled in a controversy? Abusing their power?”

“It’s not like that!” Renjun snapped.

“Why should I trust you,” Yangyang went on, voice dripping with cleverness, “when I’ve just watched you bully your fellow council member into submission? I think they call that ‘ruling with an iron fist.” He tapped the side of his camera. “Good thing I got it all on film.”

“Yangyang,” Yoorim butted in. “Quit it. We know you’re just trying to stir things up.”

He shrugged. “So? None of the readers will know the difference.”

Even Donghyuck, who just before had been spitting insults Renjun’s way, seemed frightened at this prospect. “It wasn’t what it looked like,” he admitted. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Too late now.” Yangyang waved with unsettling cheerfulness over his shoulder. “See you guys tomorrow! Look out for the next paper on Monday!”

The four student council members fell into stunned silence as he walked away.

“I’m sorry, Renjun,” Jeno said. “I tried to warn you.”

Renjun felt like he was going to cry. _Just one thing after another,_ he thought. _My reputation I’ve worked so hard to maintain these four years is going to fly out the window. I’ll be the laughing stock of class presidents. They’ll black my name out of the yearbook in Sharpie and declare me a stain on West Gardens history._

“This is the worst Halloween ever,” he said.

—

Yoorim found, when she opened the student council email on the laptop, that all the votes from the teachers had been suspiciously deleted from the inbox. This set her on a several hour long journey in which she had to email all the teachers again, asking them to try and recall the votes they had cast, and then re-tally them.

The winner, in a landslide, was the Addam’s Family.

They lay on the floor in Renjun’s room, staring at the ceiling. He’d stuck glow-in-the-dark jack-o-lanterns and witch’s hats to it, though they looked sickly green and washed out in the daytime.

“This is such a load of bullshit,” Yoorim said.

“We should never have trusted him to do it right,” Renjun responded. “We shouldn’t have let him do anything. In fact, I should’ve booted him off the student council when I had the chance.”

“What are we supposed to do now?”

“I have to get the stink off the rest of us.” Renjun pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, thinking. “I guess we have to send the real results to the office and tell them there was a mix up. Then at least it’s fair to the actual winners.”

“And what about Yangyang? He’s gonna screw us over no matter what.”

“I find it highly amusing,” Renjun said wryly, “that you didn’t take him seriously when I was worrying about him before.”

“Well. I guess I underestimated his deviousness.” She nudged Renjun with her elbow. “I’ll make it up somehow. I’ll find a way to get us out of this mess. For now, we have four days till the paper comes out next Monday. That’s plenty of time to brainstorm.”

The door creaked as Inky pushed her way through, wearing her purple and green Halloween collar with bat wings at the back. She bounded around them in a circle, sniffing their arms and legs. Then she climbed onto Renjun’s stomach, flopped down, and licked happily at his chin.

“If only everyone liked me as much as Inky does,” Renjun murmured.

“That’s a tall order,” Yoorim said.

—

Jeno stood at his locker the next morning. He was organizing his homework in his binder, its spine perched on the edge of the locker’s door frame, but he set the binder down when he saw Renjun approaching, as if there was nothing more important than giving Renjun all his attention. He even half-shut the locker door, turning and saying, “Hey, Renjun. What’s up?”

“Hey. Just ran the real contest results to the main office.” Renjun adjusted his fashionable lensless glasses then gripped his textbook to his chest. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He finally had a good moment. He couldn’t bear to pass it up again.

“Sure. What is it?”

“It’s about Yangyang. That picture he took of the two of us — you know he’s gonna write something weird about it, so… I thought I’d just head it off and say that I don’t want you to take it seriously. Or, like, misinterpret things or feel weird about it.” He paused. “You don’t feel weird about it, do you?”

Jeno smiled, and it felt like an immense comfort. It was almost enough to make Renjun forget all the craziness of the day before. “Of course not. It’s made up, so there’s nothing to feel weird about.”

“Oh. Even if everyone thought it was true?”

“I wouldn’t care if everyone thought we were dating,” Jeno said.

“Good,” Renjun breathed. “That’s good. Okay. That makes me feel better, then.”

“Were you really worried that I’d be upset?” Jeno asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t want things to get awkward between us.”

“Well, they won’t. I promise.” He reached out, and Renjun’s first thought was that he was going to pluck the antenna again, but then he remembered it was no longer Halloween and there was no longer any antenna to pluck. Instead, Jeno placed a hand on Renjun’s head, just like he had in the nurse’s office, and softly ruffled his hair. _Boy,_ did Renjun really, _really_ like that. He thought he might go through a few more emotional crises if only they could end with Jeno’s hand in his hair.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Yoorim’s voice called to them suddenly, and she came walking down the hall, stopping at Jeno’s locker. “Never know when you have an audience, right?”

“Yoorim,” Renjun said. “What are you talking about?”

“Yangyang’s in the lobby. He’ll probably walk this way any minute. Wouldn’t want to give him more fodder, would you?”

Renjun sucked in a nervous breath and glared down the hall. Just as she’d said, Yangyang was strolling in their direction, camera around his neck, looking especially pleased with himself. Renjun had half a mind to march over and confront him again, but he was afraid of having another slanderous label attached to him in the news, maybe an “antagonizer” or a “violent instigator” this time.

Yangyang met his eye, and his hand flew right to his camera. Wouldn’t it be great to grab one more pic of Renjun and Jeno talking close at their lockers? One more nail in the coffin. He raised the viewfinder in front of his eye, finger posed on the button.

Yoorim tugged on Jeno’s sleeve, whispered “you’ll thank me later,” and gave him a smooch at the corner of his mouth right as the flash went off.

The hairs on Renjun’s body stood on end, like a spooked cat.

Yoorim’s kiss lingered.

Yangyang froze, eyebrows curled in a look of genuine, almost disgusted confusion. He dropped his camera back around his neck, shook his head, and wandered towards homeroom in a shocked stupor.

Once he was gone, Yoorim finally stepped back. “Sorry,” she said. “It seemed like a good idea in the moment.”

Jeno rubbed the place where her lips had met and tried to blink himself out of his daze.

“What the hell was that?” Renjun hissed, red-faced though he had not been the one kissed.

“Well. If he thinks Jeno and _I_ are dating, that takes the spotlight off of you, right? Can’t think of anything more definitive than a kiss.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t think he’ll run the article now if he has proof to the contrary. He wouldn’t want to look like an idiot if it came out after that Jeno and I were together, rather than you two.”

“That’s smart,” Jeno said. “Good thinking.”

“And if he runs the article about me and you instead, it isn’t as if either of us care. Like I said — no one reads the West Gardens Chronicle.”

Renjun was happy, but still a little peeved at the kiss. He produced a garbled “yeah yeah, whatever,” and walked away to try and hide his flustered reaction.

“He’ll come around,” he heard Yoorim say behind him. “Never takes him long to bounce back.”

—

The costume contest winners were re-announced. Instead of taking back the gift cards they’d already distributed, the school coughed up some more money and compensated the real winners, too. _Problem solved,_ Renjun thought, _at least partially._

In his study hall after lunch, he was still thinking about the kiss. Yoorim had done it so easily. Had she thought about kissing Jeno before? Did she practice it in her head? Was the ease due to the fact that she had no feelings for him? Renjun desperately hoped it was because of that. He didn’t know what he would do otherwise.

He was so wrapped up in thoughts of kissing (did Jeno enjoy the kiss? Had Jeno ever kissed someone before? Was Jeno a good kisser or a dead fish kisser?) that he barely noticed Donghyuck hovering beside his chair until the other boy said, “Hey. _Hey,_ Renjun. Stop ignoring me.”

Renjun abandoned his daydreaming and responded, “I wasn’t ignoring you. What do you want, traitor?”

“I want to talk to you. Come out into the hall with me for a sec.”

“This had better not be another excuse.”

Donghyuck looked like he wanted to make a sassy remark as was always his first impulse, but thought better of it. “I promise it isn’t. Alright?”

Renjun reluctantly followed him out of the room and down the hall. They found a quiet place on the steps outside the library doors and sat down. These were the steps where the National Honor Society photos were taken. Renjun could remember holding his certificate and grinning, while down the line Jeno did the same. Renjun had been mad at him that night over the silly pledge squabble, but it pleased him to think now about how far they had come. That night, Jeno had been wearing a collared shirt. Renjun hadn’t told him, but he’d thought he looked rather nice in it.

“I convinced Yangyang to delete the photos,” Donghyuck said.

“What?”

“I hunted him down this morning and cornered him. I told him the real story about what happened with the votes — about how it was my fault. He said he was going to run it anyway. So I did something… a little dirty.”

“Dirty?” Renjun was still stuck on the part about Donghyuck admitting his fault, because he simply couldn’t imagine such a thing, but _dirty_ intrigued him. “How?”

“I’m not gonna call it blackmail,” Donghyuck continued, “but let’s just say I know a little too much about him. We used to be on the tennis team together in middle school, and I went over to his house a lot.” He smirked. “If you’re wondering why the newspaper hasn’t been shut down yet, it’s because his parents are pals with the principal. They even donated to the school for the building renovations last year. He wouldn’t want people to know this, because it makes his club look completely phony. He’d lose all journalistic credibility.”

“Oh my god,” Renjun whispered. “It all makes sense.”

“So yeah. He doesn’t want that to get out because he wants to look cool. Speaking of which,” Donghyuck turned slightly to face Renjun. “I did a shitty thing. My friends asked me to try and fix things in their favor, so I rigged the vote. I was afraid they’d think I was completely uncool otherwise. I was trying to impress them.”

Renjun softened at this. He’d been trying to impress people lately, too — namely, Jeno, at the blood drive and the mile. That had been a colossal failure for him. People always did stupid things to try and impress their friends. He knew exactly how Donghyuck felt.

“It’s okay,” he said. “But if you do it again, I’ll kill you.”

“Point taken,” Donghyuck said.

“Not kidding. This is your final warning.”

“You are not being very cool right now.”

Renjun smacked him in the side of the head.

—

Next Monday, Renjun and Jeno sat on the school’s front steps. They’d just left their student council meeting and were waiting for their rides home. The West Gardens Chronicle had been released that afternoon during lunch, and Jeno held a copy of it in his lap, hand over the headline.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Renjun said. “What’s the damage?”

With a dramatic flourish, Jeno uncovered the paper and lifted it in front of his face. “ _Trevor the Trout: What’s the secret inside the mascot suit?”_

“Wait. That’s it?”

“Yup.” Jeno flipped the paper around. The frontpage photo was of Trevor from the last basketball game, juxtaposed with a picture of a little gray alien from a movie. “The suggestion seems to be that the Trevor suit is inhabited by an alien escapee from a government research facility.”

“Wow. So he really did change it.” Renjun slumped in relief. But he found he was not afraid of the possibility as he had been a few days ago. Article or no article, he and Jeno were friends, and that was all that mattered. _Friends,_ Renjun told himself again. He no longer minded admitting it.

“Oh.” He picked his phone from his pocket. “By the way. Did you wanna see those Halloween pictures?”

“What?”

“From last year. You said you wanted to see.” Renjun opened Instagram on his phone and began to flick through his old photos. “I found it earlier today. Here.” He moved closer and held his phone so Jeno could see it. It was him and Yoorim, still in their costumes after school and readying to go trick-or-treating (Renjun rejected the notion that one became too old for it). Yoorim was wearing the classic blue gingham dress and the sparkly red shoes and her hair was done in pigtails. Renjun had a full face of golden paint, a mane and little round ears, and a fuzzy onesie he and his mother had sewn from old shreds of mismatched blankets.

“Oh my god.” Jeno laughed and took the phone, smiling down at it. “That’s amazing. What was the mane made from?”

“Straw. We repurposed the leftovers from our Scarecrow’s outfit.”

“Looks itchy.”

“Oh, it was.” Renjun shuffled in so he leaned on Jeno’s arm, and reached over to flick through. “And here’s the year before that. We did Toy Story.”

Jeno laughed again. “No way. Is that you as Woody?”

“Yup. And Yoorim was my Jessie. Cute, right?”

“Yeah.” Jeno’s thumb curled at the edge of Renjun’s phone, cradling it. Renjun remembered how it had felt grazing over his cheek, and thought about moving away, but decided he was comfortable right there beside Jeno on the steps, arms touching, chin nearly resting on Jeno’s shoulder.

Jeno kept flicking through, photo after photo, zooming in and out and in and out.

Renjun did not mind that his mother was late to pick him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this one got you guys in the halloween spirit!!
> 
> (also, peep the chapter count)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	8. Lock-In Night

Renjun pushed one desk into another, making an island at the side of the classroom.

“Are you all set in here?” Jeno asked, poking his head in the door.

Renjun dusted his hands off and stood back with a look of satisfaction. “Yup. Trivia Room, done.”

“Nice. What’s next door?”

“Board Game Room.”

Jeno grinned. “Wanna come help me?”

“Sure thing,” Renjun replied, hurrying at his heels like an eager puppy.

It was after school on a Friday, and they were preparing for their weekend fundraiser. It was Renjun’s personal favorite of them all — Lock-In Night.

The premise was simple. Students who brought in signed permission forms were allowed to arrive at school at seven PM that Saturday. Then, the doors would lock, and they’d stay until seven the next morning. The school itself was being transformed into the ultimate all-nighter spot. In the gym, there would be scooter races and DDR. In each classroom, they would set up different activities — trivia, board games, crafts, a mini science experiment involving an egg drop for the kids who enjoyed doing academics in their spare time. The auditorium had been transformed into a movie theater. And the mats from the gym had been dragged into the library, to function as the napping zone for the students who could not last the whole night.

Best of all, Lock-In Night was cheap. Since it was on school grounds and all the chaperones were volunteers, the only thing that needed to be paid for was the food, which they covered with four sheet pizzas, eight two-liters of soda, and some boxes of microwaveable popcorn from the nearby convenience store. Charging five dollars at the door for the attendees was more than enough to cover it as well as earn the student council a decent profit to put towards the senior trip.

The teachers had left any board games they had outside their classrooms doors. Renjun and Jeno strolled down the empty hall, stopping to collect them, occasionally blowing the dust off the lids.

“So, are you excited?” Jeno asked, stacking _Boggle_ on top of _Sorry._

“Of course. Lock-In Night’s pretty great, and it’ll be even better with us running it.” They’d spent the last student council meeting discussing all the ideas for activities. The worst thing that could happen was having too few, and the students becoming tired of the night halfway through. “Not to hype ourselves up too much, but I think we’re doing a pretty great job.”

Jeno’s board game tower had reached his chin. He shifted his arms to keep it steady, and said, “It’s really thanks to you, Renjun. We’d probably flop without you.”

Renjun blushed and bowed his head to hide it. He was improving at telling when Jeno meant what he said, and every time, he got a joyful tickle in his stomach. Besting your nearest equal was one thing, but being complimented by them was better. Those were the kinds of compliments that carried the most weight.

“That isn’t true,” Renjun said modestly. “You guys would be fine without me.”

“Maybe. But it wouldn’t be half as fun.”

Renjun blushed harder, and in his flustered distraction, tripped over his own feet and spilled his stack of board games over the floor.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asked, setting his own pile down. He hurried over and knelt down, placing a hand on Renjun’s shoulder.

“Yeah…” Renjun shifted sorely to sitting. He’d landed with his hands down, smacking the tile to try and catch himself. He lifted both arms, flexing his wrists to test them and grimacing.

“Did you hurt your hands?” Jeno, without hesitation, took one of them, thumb pressing gently at the center of Renjun’s palm, fingers curling around the back. His touch was like electricity, like a trail of gunpowder lit with a match.

“No — don’t —” Renjun tore his hand back and clutched it to his chest.

“Oh. Sorry,” Jeno said, bewildered.

“It’s okay.” Renjun let out a held breath. _What’s wrong with you?_ he berated himself. _It’s only Jeno. You see him literally everyday!_ “I’m just, uh. Sick. Don’t want you to catch my cold.”

“Really? I didn’t even notice.”

Renjun performed a highly exaggerated _ah-choo._

“Well, then.” Jeno glanced one more time at Renjun’s hand over his heart, then began reassembling the toppled pile of games. The paper bills from _Monopoly_ had spilled like confetti. He and Renjun collected them in awkward silence. Renjun tried his hardest not to put his hand anywhere near Jeno’s. He wasn’t sure he’d make it if Jeno touched him again.

“What happened here?” Yoorim came up from down the hall, carrying a box of supplies from the art room. “Which one of you was this clumsy?”

“It was Jeno,” Renjun said.

“It was not,” Jeno said.

“He wanted to show off how strong he was so he tried to carry all the games at the same time.” Renjun left the remainder of the picking up to Jeno, and stood with his hands sassily perched on his hips. “Turns out he’s got no sense of balance.”

Jeno didn’t argue it again. He seemed too amused to bother, smiling wryly to himself as he put the little silver boot back in the box.

“The moral of the story: be humble! Or the universe will take you down a peg.”

“Sure,” Yoorim said. “Anyway, Mr. Humble. Mrs. Jang wants your assistance setting up in the library. I’ll help Jeno with the games. So he doesn’t drop them again.”

“Good plan,” Renjun said. He scurried away down the hall, residually pink-cheeked, fleeing from the lingering sensation of Jeno’s touch. As he ran, he craned his head back, watching Yoorim and Jeno together, wondering if Jeno ever talked about him when he wasn’t around. Somehow, he wanted it to be the case.

—

Renjun and Yoorim arrived at school on Lock-In Night fifteen minutes before the official opening, carrying the eight sodas they’d promised in reusable shopping bags which were straining at the handles from the weight. One of the chaperones, their physics teacher, helped them to bring them to the cafeteria. Inside, the sheet pizzas were freshly opened over the center table. Renjun’s mouth watered at the smell of them.

“Guess that’s it,” Yoorim said. “Lock-In Night officially commences.”

Renjun rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I don’t even know where to start! The gym? The game room?”

Yoorim took a seat at the table in front of the pizza boxes. “I’m starving, so why not right here?”

A few minutes later, the rest of the attendees began streaming in through the cafeteria doors, seeking to snatch up their pizza slices before they ran out. It seemed everyone else was just as excited as Renjun was; a huge number of students, more than Renjun had expected, filled all the cafeteria tables. There was a mix of both seniors and underclassmen. Some kids had even brought pillows and sleeping bags, anticipating the need for a quick rest between activities.

“Hey!”

Renjun swiveled on the table bench while chewing a mouthful of pepperoni and green pepper pizza to see Jeno standing across the room, arm raised in a wave. He came over to the table, taking the space on Renjun’s free side.

“Wow. It’s crazy in here,” he observed.

“Did you come last year?” Renjun asked.

“I didn’t, actually.”

“Might have been a good thing. One kid snuck in a beer under his shirt then broke the pipe on the bathroom wall.”

“Oh my god. Are you serious?”

“It flooded the east wing.” Renjun shook his head disapprovingly, and wiped the pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Everything had to be relocated to the other side of the school.”

“It’s funny how easily I believe that. Sounds just like West Gardens.”

“Where did you think the water stains on the wall outside the calc room came from?”

Jeno laughed. He cracked open the cap on one of the soda bottles. It made a loud fizz sound, bubbles bursting.

“So, what did you want to do tonight?” he asked, pouring the soda into his plastic cup. “Anything you had your eye on?”

“What about the trivia room?” Renjun scooted a little closer on the bench. His half-eaten slice of pizza lay abandoned on his paper plate. “We could be a trivia team! Me, you, and Yoorim. I bet we’d clean up, no problem.”

Jeno nodded. His eyes flickered back and forth, from Renjun’s eyes to his mouth, back to his eyes again. Renjun liked how obviously Jeno listened when he spoke. Even in a noisy cafeteria, he wasn’t paying attention to anything but him.

“That sounds fun,” Jeno said. “I’m pretty great at trivia. I watch _Jeopardy!_ literally every night.”

“Me too!” Renjun grinned, and leaned his elbow on the table, propping his cheek on his palm. “Me and my mom always compete like we’re the ones playing. I always wanted to go on the show for real! You know how they have the high school episodes, right?”

Jeno nodded again. His gaze had fallen back to Renjun’s lips.

“Well, I was practicing to be on it for a while.” He spoke very quietly, musingly, for just Jeno to hear. Just like Jeno only paid attention to him, he was paying attention only to Jeno. “So if we combine both our _Jeopardy!_ knowledge, we’ll be completely unstoppable.”

“Then we’re a team.” Jeno raised his hand for a high five. Renjun completed it, palms pressed together for a few seconds more than necessary. For some reason, Renjun could not stop giggling. Nothing was particularly funny, but the giggles kept bubbling over like the fizz on Jeno’s soda. Jeno probably thought he was nuts, but that was okay. Renjun’s nuttiness had never deterred him before.

“Oh,” Jeno said, wiping his hand on the thigh of his jeans. “I forgot you said you were sick.”

“I said what?”

“Hey — Renjun, Jeno.”

They both looked up to see Jisung standing by them, twisting the sleeves of his gray hoodie.

“Hey, Jisung,” Jeno said. “What’s up? I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wasn’t going to, but it sounded like fun, so...“ He awkwardly shuffled his feet on the cafeteria floor. “Is it okay if I hang out with you guys?”

Jeno’s eyebrows curved in concern. “Did you not come with any of your friends?”

“I don’t really have a lot of friends in my grade.”

Jeno quickly said, “Of course you can hang out with us. Why don’t you get something to eat?”

Jisung nudged in between Jeno and Renjun, making space at the bench for himself.

“Oh, uh, Jisung —” Renjun’s elbow fell from the table. He moved his head back and forth, still trying to keep Jeno’s eye contact. “That’s —”

“What?” Jisung asked obliviously, pulling a piece of pizza from the box, its cheese stretching out like a string. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Renjun murmured. “That’s fine.” He turned away to see Yoorim sitting on his other side. He’d completely forgotten she was there, and jumped at the sight of her.

“What’s up with you?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Renjun answered, voice high.

“Sure.” She smirked.

Renjun kicked the side of her shoe under the table.

“Boss!”

This time, it was Chenle bounding up to the table. He carried a giant duffel bag. Whatever was inside it, Renjun could not even begin to guess.

“Hey Chenle,” he said. “Oh! I don’t think you two have met. Chenle, this is Jisung. He’s a freshman. Jisung, this is Chenle, my protege.”

Jisung shyly waved.

“Are you good at DDR?” Chenle asked.

“Uh,” Jisung said.

“I’m really good at it. Wanna come watch me be good at it?”

Jisung stood, glanced around nervously as if he was being led to the guillotine, and followed Chenle back out of the cafeteria.

“That’s an odd pair,” Jeno said.

“I think they will entertain each other nicely,” Renjun responded.

Once they’d all had their fill of pizza, they moved out of the cafeteria and towards the gym. The trivia competition did not start until ten, which meant they had a few hours to kill. What better way to fill it, Renjun thought, than to whoop Jeno’s ass in a scooter race and remind him where he belonged in the pecking order?

“Show me what you’ve got, Mr. Class President,” Jeno teased, scooching back and forth on his little purple scooter as he warmed up. The races were run in groups of five, though Renjun did not care if he beat the others, so long as he beat Jeno. “As we’ve established before, I’m pretty athletic. I think you’ll be left in the dust.”

“Ha! The absolute hubris.” Renjun wiggled his red scooter, heating up the wheels. “This is the one activity where my shorter limbs are an advantage. My power is more concentrated. I have better steering ability.”

“So you admit you have short legs.”

Renjun tried to kick him, but didn’t have enough reach.

“Everybody ready?” called the chaperone from the sidelines.

There was a countdown, and then the blow of a whistle. Renjun took off over the starting line, choosing the Backwards Scooter Stroke, where he pushed off behind to propel himself, like the flame on a rocket. Not only was this a very fast method, but it allowed him to watch the other racers behind him and gauge their speeds. Jeno had opted for the more standard Forward Scooch. Behind him, another kid had attempted to go on his stomach and had immediately flopped over like a beached whale.

“See?” Renjun shouted. “I told you! This is my sport!” He gave a shit-eating grin and scrambled faster, flying towards the finish line.

“It isn’t over yet!” Jeno, in a desperate ploy to bridge the gap between them, tried to spin forward with one big push. The wheels squeaked unpleasantly on the laminated floor, and in goofy slow-motion, he toppled onto his back, legs in the air. His scooter skidded away and doinked against the wall.

Renjun laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. He clutched for his stomach and lost his balance, rolling off sideways and landing face-down.

A girl with a ponytail passed over the finish line. The whistle blew again.

Renjun and Jeno stayed where they were on the ground, a few feet apart, and kept laughing. Renjun did not even care that he had lost.

“That was so funny,” he said, pointing his finger in Jeno’s direction. “You should have seen your face. When you realized you were gonna fall — oh my god, I wish I’d gotten it on video —”

“What about you?” Jeno lifted his head off the floor. His hair was all messed up, bangs fallen back from his head. “You laughed so hard you wiped out. What goes around comes around.”

“You’d have wiped out too, if I’d looked half as ridiculous as you did.”

Jeno got up, rubbing his sore tailbone, and walked over to help Renjun to his feet. Renjun took his hand and rose, stumbling, bumping into Jeno’s shoulder.

“Now what?” Jeno asked. “We’ve still got a lot of time.”

Renjun looked to see that a line had formed at the side of the gym, more students waiting their turn for a race.

“How about we go around again?” he said. “We can’t leave until there’s a winner, right?”

Jeno grinned. He scampered behind Renjun as they made their way to the end of the line.

—

At ten o’clock, Renjun bounded over to an island of desks in the biology room. It was trivia time. They’d ended up racing six more times, with a final score of three to three. _Results inconclusive._ But that was fine by Renjun. As much as he’d liked scooter races, there was nothing better than flexing the most important muscle of them all — his big, fabulous brain.

“Here!” he said, beckoning over the rest of his team. Teams had to be of four students, so he, Jeno and Yoorim had roped in Jisung as their fourth. Jisung had claimed he had no confidence at trivia, but Renjun wanted to spend some more time with him to reassert his mentorship role; he told him that he could just be quiet if he wanted and let the rest of them handle the questions.

“Plus,” Renjun had said, “I know you’re plenty smart yourself. I’m sure there’ll be a few questions right up your alley.”

Jisung had brightened at this and wiggled the overlong sleeves of his hoodie.

Now, they gathered together at their desks, where there was a mini whiteboard and a green expo marker. “What’s our team name?” Renjun asked, popping the cap onto the other end of the marker.

“The Winners,” Jisung suggested.

“Simple, but I like the confidence.”

“Renjun and His Three Unwilling Lackeys,” said Yoorim. She looked at Jeno, then corrected, “ _Two_ Unwilling Lackeys.”

Renjun glanced around the room. “Donghyuck didn’t come tonight, did he?”

“Don’t think so.”

Renjun quickly wrote _The Student Council, But Better_ across the top of their whiteboard.

Jeno chortled and smacked him softly on the arm.

Mrs. Jang, who’d volunteered to run the trivia game, went up to the front of the room and booted up the computer. The game board displayed on the projector screen, with varying point totals for different categories and difficulties. The prize for the first place team was a box of fancy chocolates.

Renjun scuffed his feet along the floor beneath his desk like a bull.

“You really want those chocolates, huh?” Yoorim said.

“I don’t care about the chocolates. I want the title. _West Gardens High Lock-In Night Trivia Contest First Place Team Finisher._ ”

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.”

“We’ve got this,” Jeno reminded him. “Me and you are first and second in the class. There’s no way we can lose if we’re working together.”

Renjun gave him another high five, and finished it with a firm handshake.

The game started off quite easy. All the early questions were no-brainers, like “name the country that borders Poland which has a name beginning with L,” or “name the era in which the dinosaurs went extinct,” which Renjun buzzed in for in less than a second. Jeno was no slouch, either, and was helpful in the categories which Renjun considered his weaker subjects, like sports teams and movies (Renjun did not watch movies if they were not heartrending dramas about love and self-identity).

By the time the final round came, they were in the lead by over a thousand points. Renjun hunkered down into his seat, chewing the inside of his bottom lip, intensely awaiting the name of category.

“Music history,” Mrs. Jang announced. “All teams, bet your points now.”

Renjun’s team ducked their heads together over their whiteboard.

“What do you think?” Jeno asked Renjun. “Are you any good at this stuff?”

“Only if it’s boy bands,” Yoorim said.

Renjun prodded her cheek with the capped end of the marker.

“I know lots of stuff,” he responded proudly. Mostly because he refused to admit he had any blindspots. “Beethoven? I practically wrote the biography on the guy!”

“Really.” Jeno smiled, closed-lipped. “Tell me about him.”

Renjun did not really know anything about Beethoven. “In his portraits,” he said, “he always looks really mean. Like this.” He scrunched up his face, brows low, lips pursed.

Jeno laughed. He poked the tip of Renjun’s nose, and Renjun yelped and fell back in his chair.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Yoorim asked.

“Oh!” Renjun went back to Serious Business Mode. “The bet! How much should we do?”

“Let’s go all in,” Jisung suggested. “It’s more fun that way.”

Renjun wrote down their full point total — 8200 — and looked back up to the front of the room.

“Okay,” Mrs. Jang said. “Here’s the question. ‘What is Paul McCartney’s middle name?’”

Renjun whacked himself in the forehead with the whiteboard.

“We’re gonna lose so hard,” he moaned. “I don’t know shit about the Beatles.”

“Should we just choose a British sounding name?” Jisung tried. “Like Scottie? Or Rafferty?”

“Wait,” Jeno said. “I think I know this.”

Everyone looked at him with bated breath.

“I think it’s just Paul,” he said.

Renjun dropped the whiteboard with a clatter on his desk.

“No, _stupid,_ ” he hissed. “His _middle_ name. Were you even listening?”

“Yeah. I think Paul is his middle name. His first name is something else.”

Renjun looked at Yoorim. She shrugged.

“Are you sure?” Renjun asked.

“I’m like eighty percent sure. My dad is big into old people music.” Jeno tapped a finger on the board. “Hurry up and write it. We’re running out of time.”

Renjun said a prayer, and wrote _Paul_ in very tiny letters, as if he was ashamed to do it.

“Okay, teams! Everyone turn your boards to the front!”

Renjun squeezed his eyes shut and held the board over his head.

“Oh!” Mrs. Jang exclaimed. “Renjun’s team — that’s correct!”

“ _What?_ ”

“So you double your point score. I think that makes you our winners.”

The rest of the teams clapped. Yoorim went to graciously collect their chocolates. Jisung gave a soft _woot-woot._ Renjun, overjoyed, pumped a fist in the air. He was the Trivia King. The tale would be retold for a long time. It would become West Gardens lore, passed onto the next generation.

Jeno whispered, “I _told_ you I knew it,” and looped an arm around Renjun’s shoulders in a hug. Renjun felt a pleased flutter in his stomach, a slight heat in his cheeks.

It felt like he’d won in more ways than one.

—

Once they cleaned up the trivia room, Renjun was already planning their next event. The egg drop was supposed to be starting in the physics room in fifteen minutes. They had to make cradles to catch the eggs after they were dropped from the second-floor down the stairwell. Renjun had already started sketching his specialty egg net design in his notebook, and he knew, after their trivia victory, that his best possible teammate was Jeno. It turned out they worked very well together.

“Hey,” he said. “So they’re starting the egg drop in a little bit —”

“Hold on, sorry.” Jeno was staring down at his phone. “Jaemin just texted me. They’re starting a basketball game down at the gym, and he wants me to play with him.”

Renjun’s happiness deflated.

“What were you saying, Renjun?”

“I was gonna ask if you wanna do the egg drop with me.”

Jeno looked from his phone to Renjun, like he was being pulled on each arm and split down the middle. “Uh. I can if you really want me to. But I haven’t hung out with Jaemin all night…”

“It’s okay,” Renjun said.

“I’m sorry. We can hang out again after though, okay?”

Renjun nodded. He stared down at the tile floor.

Jeno walked away slowly, like he kept thinking of turning back, but ultimately exited towards the gym. The other students trailed out behind him. Renjun stayed still where he stood.

It wasn’t like he’d expected to be spending all night with Jeno. That was why he had Yoorim, right? Jeno was totally valid to want to spend time with his own best friend. Renjun certainly didn’t mind. Jeno wasn’t his property. Jeno had a whole social life he was not a part of.

Renjun repeated these sentiments to himself in a loop, trying to convince himself of it.

“Renjun,” Yoorim murmured beside him. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Renjun barely heard her. He was still looking at the place where Jeno had been just a second ago, feeling completely dejected.

Yoorim grabbed his arm and dragged him into the empty bio lab room.

“Hey,” he said, as the door clicked shut behind them. “What are you doing?”

She released him and placed both hands on her hips. The light was not on, leaving them dimly lit by the square window in the door. It occurred to Renjun then how surreal it was to be in the school at night. It was like being at a gas station in the middle of the night, except it smelled like chalk dust instead of cheapo hot dogs. It had the same sense of liminality. A inbetweenness, like something was about to change.

“Be honest with me,” she said. “Do you have a crush on Jeno?”

Renjun stared at her. Then he quickly lowered himself to laying in the middle of the lab room floor, hands pressed over his face, breathing loudly into them.

“Yoorim,” he gasped, “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, you’re just stupid.”

“I can’t breathe — you have to go get someone — the nurse —”

She prodded him with her toe, turning him over like a dead animal washed up on the beach. “The nurse? To do _what?_ Diagnose you with a big, fat _cru —”_

“Don’t say it again!” he cried. “If you say it again I’m going to die. That’s not a joke, it’s for real.”

“Say what? You mean a cruh- _uuuuuuuush_?” She turned it into a two-syllable word. It felt like she was dragging it over his skin, letting it crawl over him like a hundred spiders.

He full-body shuddered. It was pure torture. _Be humble!_ he’d said just yesterday. _Or the universe will take you down a peg._ He had shown too little humility towards Jeno in their battles. And now he was receiving his karmic retribution.

“Oh, come on.” She tugged on one of his arms to look at him, and seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh my god, I’ve never seen your face this red before. Are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Renjun mumbled.

“Are you sure?”

Renjun rolled into fetal position on his side. Yoorim sighed and sat down beside him, legs in a pretzel cross. “It’s not that big of a deal, Renjun. You’re just over-reacting.”

“It’s not an over-reaction,” he countered. “He’s my mortal enemy. He’s _Number Two._ ”

“And, according to you, he’s your friend now. You just don’t want to admit you might like him.” She reached out and began to gently pet the top of Renjun’s hair. “It’s okay. Jeno’s a really nice guy. It totally makes sense that you would like him, so don’t start your mental gymnastics of trying to deny it.”

Renjun blinked, and suddenly sat halfway up. “Do you think he might like me?” he asked.

Yoorim’s lips stretched into a flat line. She was silent for a moment before answering, “You could always just ask him.”

“No — no way —” Renjun flopped back down and resumed his attempt at rubbing the blotchiness out of his cheeks. “I can’t do that. That’s not even how it works. Who the hell just _asks_ someone if they want to date them?”

“I think that’s how they’ve been doing it for centuries.”

“Yoorim, I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never even been on a date before. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“What?” She leaned in, brows high. “What about Marco de Fabio? From summer camp?”

“I made him up,” Renjun mumbled.

Marco de Fabio was an imaginary boy that Renjun had invented in the summer between eighth and ninth grade. He’d attended summer camp because he’d wanted to expand his repertoire of skills to include archery and knot-tying, except it turned out he sucked at both of those things and anytime Renjun sucked at something, he immediately wrote it off as an “activity for non-intellectuals.” He ended up spending most of his time reading books in his cabin and participating in the mandatory, awful team-building exercises led by the camp counselors, which included ropes courses and human pyramids. Afraid at having no exciting tales to bring back to school with him, he made up the story of Marco de Fabio, a very handsome tenth grader who wore beaded necklaces and surfer shorts. The story of how they met went like this: Renjun was practicing with his bow during his spare time between archery lessons. The target was situated between two big oak trees, and in one of his shots, Renjun’s arrow was soaring right towards the bullseye, but then a big gust of wind swept through the forest. The arrow veered left, striking the oak trunk at a funny angle, and instead of embedding into the bark, it bounced back at an incredible speed, aiming right for Renjun’s face. His life flashed before his eyes — memories of Christmas with his grandparents, his mother’s home-cooked mac and cheese, Inky eating his new sneakers on the eve of the seventh grade. Renjun shut his eyes, preparing for the impact, asking God to tell his mother one last time that he loved her.

Then, suddenly, he was swept off his feet. He fell backwards onto the forest floor, but his head was cushioned by a strong arm. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking up into the face of Marco de Fabio, curly haired and tanned and dimpled.

“Are you okay?” Marco de Fabio asked, in a deeper-than-average-for-a-tenth-grader voice.

“Yes,” Renjun breathed. “Yes I am.”

“I’m glad,” Marco de Fabio said, smiling. He had the biggest, shiniest teeth of any boy in the world.

From then on, it was a full on summer romance. Stealing kisses in a kayak on the sunset-reflecting lake, stealing kisses in the middle of the night between their cabins, stealing kisses behind the boys’ outhouse. At the end of the summer, they were cruelly separated as they returned to their hometowns, but promised to keep in touch via snail mail. Conveniently, Marco de Fabio moved away to Costa Rica. And extra conveniently, Renjun did not have any photos of him, as cellphones were expressly forbidden at summer camp.

“I should have known he was too good to be true,” Yoorim whispered in revelation, placing a shocked hand over her mouth.

“The last person I kissed was in elementary school,” Renjun admitted. “At me and Hojoon’s sandbox wedding.” Renjun had filed for a sandbox divorce just two days later, citing irreconcilable differences. He’d caught Hojoon talking to another boy behind the twisty slide at the playground.

“It doesn’t really matter how experienced you are,” Yoorim assured him. “You’re both high schoolers. It’s not like he’s got a huge resume himself.”

“You don’t know that. He’s probably kissed a hundred girls. A hundred _cheerleaders._ ” Renjun broke into another fit of agony, bunching his hair between his fingers. “Yoorim, I don’t even know if he likes boys. He’s like the straightest person I can think of. Have you _seen_ his cargo pants?”

“Now you’re just assuming things.” She pulled Renjun up by his sleeves so that he was sitting upright, then held onto his hands. “You know, for someone who’s so outgoing most of the time, it’s kind of nice to see you all shy for a change. You must really like him, huh?”

Though he was embarrassed, Renjun smiled to himself. He’d had a handful of crushes before, but not on boys he’d been so close to. Usually, it was boys he’d watched from afar — the Model UN president during his freshman year, who’d looked so handsome at the podium but Renjun had been too timid to approach during club meetings; and then his lab partner in chemistry class, who’d he’d liked so much he’d written an extensive entry about him in his diary, complete with heart-shaped stickers and drawings of baby Cupid, only to overhear later that week when the boy make a disparaging, vaguely homophobic remark about him in the hall (“That Renjun kid — I wish we weren’t paired up. I try not to sit too close to him. Might try to lay one on me.”). It always ended that way. You looked up to someone, but they weren’t as nice as they seemed once you dug deeper. But Renjun knew Jeno well by now. Jeno wasn’t a gossiper or a bully or a faker. He was nice all the way through.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really like him.”

“He’s cute.” Yoorim bobbled excitedly. Boy Talk was one of their favorite friend activities. It usually took place on Renjun’s bed, sitting with pillows in their laps as they listened to Renjun’s _Yoorim & Renjun Wild Party Night Jamz_ Spotify playlist. “Really cute, Renjun. You made a good choice this time. He’s got nice arms.”

“And he has nice lips,” Renjun said, so excited to finally admit it that he felt a tickle crawl up and down his back. He remembered their trip to the nurse’s office. “And nice eyelashes too.”

Yoorim giggled and took Renjun’s hands, bouncing them excitedly between their laps. Renjun let out a half-embarrassed, half-thrilled scream.

“Oh my god,” Yoorim said. “Oh my god. I can’t believe it.”

“Me either.”

“Let’s go back out,” she said, beginning to scramble to her feet. “Let’s go to the gym —”

“Wait.” Renjun grabbed hold of the fold at the knee of her jeans. “Wait. Yoorim. You have to promise me you won’t say anything about it. Especially to Jeno.”

The excitement faltered on her face. “Oh, Renjun — come on, I can be your wingman —”

“No. No way.” He shuffled in and wrapped his arms around her leg, making himself an anchor. “You aren’t allowed to leave until you promise. No telling Jeno. I need time to figure out what I’m gonna do. Till then, he can’t know. _Please._ ”

Once again, her face went tiredly blank. She looked like she wanted to object, but all she said was, “Fine. I promise.”

“If you betray me, I revoke our best friend status.”

She gasped. “You would never.”

“Oh, but I would.” He gave her a firm stare, chin tilted down and eyebrows scrunched. “I would take all our photos together down off my wall. I’d never return the cardigan you let me borrow. And I’d sell the One Direction king-size throw blanket you got me for my birthday last year online. Inky would be my new best friend.”

“They don't even make those blankets anymore! I had to scour the internet for weeks!" She stomped her foot beneath Renjun’s weight. "You can’t replace me with a dog!” 

“Don’t try me.”

She groaned, seeming to be fighting an internal battle between her love for Renjun and her desperate need to live vicariously through his romance.

“Okay,” she finally said. Renjun knew he’d won from the clear annoyance in her eyes. “I promise, times a thousand. Now let go of my leg.”

Renjun released her. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, trying to recover from her frustration, and said, “Anyway. I’m going to go to the crafts room and do some therapeutic fingerpainting. You are free to join me if you agree to act like a normal person.”

“No,” he said. “I need some time to think.”

“Even better.” She opened the lab room door. “I’ll see you in a little bit, okay? Don’t go too off the wall over this whole thing. It’s not the end of the world.” She walked out, through the bio room, and into the hall.

Renjun sighed and slumped over one of the lab benches.

Even though she’d just warned him otherwise, having a crush on Jeno did feel a little bit like the end of the world.

—

Renjun edged in the side door of the gym.

The basketball game was still going on inside. He saw Jaemin first, who had the ball and was dribbling it down the court, leaping to make a basket. But Renjun didn’t look at him; he looked further down, where Jeno stood near the halfcourt line. It was strange to see him playing in jeans, but they only drew out the shape of him, tight at the calves and the waist. He’d taken off his sweatshirt, leaving him in his t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Renjun had consciously tried not to notice it before, but Yoorim was right that he had nice arms. Really, _really_ nice arms. It was a tortuous thing for Renjun to know about him.

He backed away from the court and turned to leave.

“Renjun!”

Jeno was running up behind him, hand raised towards the game to call for a break. “Hey,” he said, stopping beside him. He was breathing heavy, forehead damp, but smiling. “The game should be done in a little bit. I’m sorry I missed the egg drop thing, but if you wanna hang around for a few minutes, maybe after we can do something.”

Suddenly, the thought of hanging out with Jeno felt dangerous. Renjun might get tongue-tied, and his crush would be so obvious it would hit them like a crash-landing and bring the mood down with it.

“No,” Renjun said. “That’s okay. I’m gonna go see what Chenle and Jisung are up to.”

“Oh.” Jeno’s smile slipped. “Alright.”

“Sorry.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“You should go finish your game.”

Jeno rocked on his feet, like he was trying to come up with something else to say. In the end, he frowned, scratched the back of his head, and walked back to the court without another word.

Renjun escaped the suffocating atmosphere of the gym and dug his phone from his pocket. He had a message.

_hey boss!!!!! wanna play hide-and-seek???? we r in the lobby!!!_

Hide-and-seek. It would be a good way for him to take his mind off of things. And honestly, he’d always had a fantasy about playing hide-and-seek at school. There were so many places to hide, so many secret nooks only he knew about. With the classrooms empty and most of the school at their disposal, it could be a game of hide-and-seek for the history books.

 _It’s Lock-In Night,_ Renjun reminded himself. _No boys. No drama. Only fun and relaxation._

He picked up the pace, trying to force a little more bounce in his step.

Like he’d said, Chenle was standing in the lobby, along with Jisung and a few underclassmen that Renjun recognized as Chenle’s friends. They stood in a loose circle, waiting.

“Hey,” Renjun said. “I’m here.”

“Boss!” Chenle reached down into his duffel bag and pulled out a flashlight. “Take this. The classrooms in the east wing don’t have the lights on, so I thought it’d be fun if we did it flashlight-style. Kinda spooky, huh?”

Renjun liked this very much. He flicked the flashlight on and off, then noticed that everyone else — seven kids total — had flashlights as well. “Did you bring all these?”

“Yup.”

“How many flashlights do you own? And why?”

“An appropriate number,” Chenle said. He did not elaborate further.

“Well. Who’s counting?”

Instinctively, everyone in the circle placed their fingers on their noses.

Everyone except Jisung, too slow on the pick up.

“Aww man,” he groaned weakly.

“That decides it!” Chenle thumped Jisung supportively on the back. “Okay. One minute to hide, then Jisung will start searching.”

Jisung turned around, pressed his forehead to the lobby wall, and began counting backwards from sixty.

Everyone took off, though quietly, trying to muffle their footsteps. Renjun went straight for the east wing, taking no time to think things over; he already knew exactly where he was going.

—

Nearing the end of the minute, Renjun slipped in the door of the student council room. He didn’t turn the lights on; instead, he swept his flashlight across the room to make sure he didn’t walk into the desks or the big wheelie whiteboard, then shuffled along the nearest wall towards the corner. There was an old, disused blackboard there with an eraser in its metal tray, which he almost knocked over with the side of his hand. It toppled slightly, but remained where it was. He shushed it and moved along further.

In the corner was a filing cabinet. He ducked around it and crouched between it and the wall, snuggling down for the long haul. No one would find him here. The student council room was a long way from the lobby, and wasn’t as obvious as the library or the cafeteria. Half the kids in the school didn’t even know where it was. Sometimes, he didn’t like how little the others seemed to think about the student council, because it made him feel like no one cared about everything he did. But sometimes he liked it, because it felt like a small, secret treasure that belonged to him. It was his own space, and very rarely did anyone try to encroach upon in.

Except Jeno.

Renjun folded his arms across his knees and leaned his cheek onto them. He didn’t know what to do about Jeno. The feelings he had were new. Fragile. Unexpected. He was afraid of what might happen if he bought wholly into them too soon. Maybe he would get his hopes up too high, and then he’d find out that Jeno had a girlfriend at another school, and it would all come falling down. Maybe he’d get up the nerve to say something, and Jeno would turn him down, and then they wouldn’t even be friends anymore because it would be too awkward to bear. Though it would have seemed unimaginable at the beginning of the school year, Renjun knew he would miss Jeno’s friendship terribly if he couldn’t have it. They were similar in more ways than they were different, and the ways in which they were different were only good ones. When Renjun was wild and passionate, Jeno was mild and supportive. They had balance. Renjun felt like, if he couldn’t have Jeno, his heart would be so unbalanced it would capsize like a boat in rough water, turning over on itself.

Though he’d only discovered his crush an hour ago, Renjun had, against his better judgement, gone all-in on it. His eyes were watering. He laughed at the absurdity of it. It echoed quietly in the empty classroom.

The clock ticked above him. He tilted his head back to look at the posters on the wall (“It’s important to listen as much as you speak!” with a big cartoon ear beneath it; “Be original, be you!” beneath showering confetti). Then he looked across the room to his desk, with the _Class President_ sticker in the corner. This was his last year on the student council, and his last year in high school. He wondered if everything would seem so big, every emotion so all-consuming, every crush so worldstopping, once he graduated. He decided he would be happy to be a teenager forever.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. It was so dark, so quiet, he thought he might fall asleep.

The door cracked. Renjun expected Jisung. But instead, he saw the sliver of Jeno’s face, backlit by the hallway lights, peering curiously through the dark until his gaze fell on Renjun curled in the corner.

“Found you,” Jeno said.

“What are you doing?” Renjun asked.

“I ran into Chenle, and he said you guys were playing hide-and-seek. Thought I’d try and look for you.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I dunno. I was getting bored of _Monopoly._ I think Jaemin might be the only person on earth who actually likes that game.”

Renjun smiled. He lifted himself up on an open drawer of the filing cabinet and met Jeno at the door.

“Where was Chenle, by the way?” he asked.

“He’d turned the recycling bin in Mrs. Jang’s room upside-down and was wearing it like a turtle shell. I nearly tripped right over him.” He held the door open for Renjun and they walked out, but he stopped suddenly when he looked at Renjun’s face. “Your eyes are red. Are you tired?”

_No. Just crying because I like you so much._

“Yeah,” Renjun said.

“It’s getting pretty late. Wanna go to the library? They’ve got the mats laid down for people to sleep on. I’m pretty tired, too.”

“Okay.”

The library tables had been moved into the back hall to make napping room in the middle. It was mostly empty right then, maybe a bit too early for most of the students to admit they needed a rest. One kid laid in the far corner, curled in a Star Wars blanket he’d brought from home, snoring loudly. Renjun and Jeno picked along to some mats near the circulation desk, lowering down to lay on their backs and stare up at the dim-lighted ceiling.

“Shit,” Jeno said. “I hope Jisung isn’t still looking for you. He might be searching all night.”

Renjun snorted and pressed a sleeve over his mouth to stifle his laugh. “He’d have been searching a long time, anyway. I’m a great hider.”

“I found you pretty quick.”

“Yeah.” Renjun turned onto his side, looking at Jeno’s profile. Jeno had a nice nose. Renjun wondered if any part of Jeno’s body was not nice. He doubted it. “How?”

“I know you pretty well. Seemed obvious you’d be in the student council room.”

 _I know you pretty well._ That made Renjun’s heart beat a mile a minute. He wanted to roll over onto Jeno’s mat and get as close as physically possible, maybe find out what Jeno’s _nice arms_ would feel like around his waist, but decided this would be a step too far considering they’d never even been on a date, so he practiced self-restraint and considered the crevice between their mats a concrete wall.

With his near nod-off in the student council room as a premonition, it turned out that Renjun _was_ pretty tired. His eyes kept fluttering shut and he couldn’t stop yawning. Despite everything that had happened at Lock-In Night, and despite his nervousness, he found himself completely comfortable there beside Jeno, on the thin, plasticy gym mats.

“This is kind of like a sleepover,” Jeno whispered.

Renjun smiled. He felt like a kindergartener, talking secretively during naptime, dodging the ear of the teacher. “Yeah. You know, the only sleepovers I’ve ever been to are Yoorim’s.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t think anyone else can stand to be around me for more than a day.” He laughed, to prove it was meant as a self-deprecating joke.

Jeno raised his phone over his face and checked the time. “Well. It’s one AM now. That counts, right?”

“Counts how?”

“Counts as more than a day. We’ve passed midnight.” He made eye contact, the steady, Jeno-y kind that made Renjun feel like the only person in the world. “And I’m not sick of you yet.”

Earlier, Renjun had not been able to stop giggling. Now, he couldn’t stop smiling. He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. He thought he would still be smiling when he fell asleep.

Jeno reached over the imaginary concrete wall, and ruffled the front of Renjun’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) how about THAT for progress? leave ur screams in the comments below
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	9. Sex Ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small warning: this chapter is about sex education, so it comes with the expected topics -- mentions of stds, consent, genitalia, etc. nothing graphic or terribly inappropriate. no actual sex. it also focuses on homophobia at school, so please read with caution if you're sensitive to that!

Renjun could not think about anything except kissing Jeno.

It followed him wherever he went. Even in classes, where he would usually be taking his thorough, color-coded notes and raising his hand to answer every question, he found himself too distracted by the thought to participate. He would simply daydream, staring vacantly out the window, as the fantasy played on permanent loop.

There were a few different variations he liked to explore. The most elaborate was the one which took place at the Grand Canyon. He did not know how they would end up at the Grand Canyon — perhaps for their senior trip, he rationalized — but they would stand at the edge of it, overlooking the valley. It would be sunset, and the sky would be swirling bubblegum pink and goldfish orange. At the river at the bottom of the basin, a deer would peacefully sip at the water. A breeze would blow through, carrying birdcall, stirring Renjun’s hair.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” he would say.

“No,” Jeno would say, “you are.”

Renjun would be so flattered he’d blush, though deep down he would know he looked incredible in his tan coat and sweater/collared shirt combo. “Oh, Jeno…” he would say, attractively demure. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” Jeno would be forward, like a valiant action-movie hero. He would loop an arm at Renjun’s waist, pulling him in so they were pressed flush together. “And I’ll prove it.”

He would lean in and kiss Renjun full on the mouth. His lips would taste like mint gum, because Jeno was a gentleman and always made sure he had good-smelling breath before making a move. Renjun would sigh, any worry in the world irrelevant and lifted away, and kiss Jeno back. Inside his head, fireworks would go off, exploding into shimmery bursts, celebrating the beginning of a whirlwind, heart-pounding romance.

The one time he did not think about kissing Jeno was during sex ed.

In fact, he could not bear to have Jeno anywhere within his headspace. It was bad enough to have to sit through their health class lectures about STDs and consent and how to put on a condom, but worse when Jeno crossed his mind, because it would turn him red as a lobster with embarrassment. Worse still was the fact that he and Jeno were in the same health class, so if Renjun even made a slight pivot in his seat, he would see Jeno sitting a couple tables back, and the awkwardness was nearly enough to knock him dead. And he was not the only one who felt that awkwardness — there was a strange silence over the whole class, occasional stilted laughter, even the boys who usually told dirty jokes like they were nothing rubbing their arms as if there was a prickle on their skin.

“Are you alright?” Yoorim hissed beside him, during the middle of a powerpoint presentation about sexual anatomy.

Renjun was trying very hard not to look at the diagram on the projection. “I am just fine,” he assured her. “I am very mature, and capable of talking about sex without being made uncomfortable. It is simple human biology.”

“You haven’t stopped fidgeting for the past half hour.”

“My back itches. Right in the middle where I can’t reach. That’s all.”

“Want me to get it?”

The slide changed, and showed a photograph of a highly-afflicted body part. “This is genital warts,” their health teacher, Mrs. Park, explained.

Renjun covered his eyes and screamed silently.

Though Renjun considered the class akin to torture, he was an avid supporter of comprehensive sex education, so he eventually got over his fear and tried his best to listen and learn. His mother had already given him “the talk” in the ninth grade (as mortifying as that had been), so he thought he had a pretty good grip on the mechanics and risks of sex.

The middle section of class was the part about contraception. At the front of the room, Mrs. Park dumped a shoebox’s contents onto the table and invited all the students up to look. It was an array of male condoms, female condoms, dental dams, and a model of an IUD. “It’s really important that you guys get right in there,” she said enthusiastically. “Pick them up. Get comfortable with them. Destroy the taboo of safe sex!”

She then opened a grocery bag and placed a cucumber on the table. “In case anyone wants to practice,” she said.

Renjun walked casually across the room to the far wall and leaned his forehead against it, face so hot he thought he was going to explode. She could not pay him to get anywhere near that cucumber.

“Now this is important,” Mrs. Park went on. “For the girls in the room — you may always expect the boy to carry a condom. But that’s simply not the case. So if you’re sexually active, you should get in the practice of carrying a condom in your purse as well.”

Renjun’s ears perked up at this. He turned halfway back around, and raised a hand.

“Renjun?” Mrs. Park said.

“I have a question.” He glanced back down at the assortment of contraception on the table. “You said a lot about boy-girl couples, and the risk of the girl getting pregnant. But what about same-sex couples? If there’s a situation where neither person can get pregnant, it’s still important to use contraception, right? To reduce the risk of an STD?”

She pressed her lips together grimly. “Yes. But it seems you already knew the answer to that question, Renjun.”

He blinked. He wasn’t sure why he was being sassed. “Yeah,” he said confusedly. “I meant it more as a means of informing everyone. In case there were other kids who needed to hear it.”

She moved on with the lesson like nothing had happened.

At the other end of the table, a boy had unwrapped a condom and stretched it over his entire forearm. Jeno laughed at it. Renjun returned his attention to the delightfully blank and unintimidating wall, and decided his blush would not be fading anytime soon.

Once they were done with that, Mrs. Park closed out the class by returning to the powerpoint and running them through several hypothetical scenarios. “Julie and Craig have been dating for two months,” one of them went. “Craig has expressed an interest in them beginning to have sex. Julie does not agree, and wants to wait. If Craig attempts to coerce her into sex, and she ultimately agrees after he says he will break up with her otherwise, does that qualify as consent?” The next scenario was about expired condom use, the third about STD testing. All three used straight couples as their example.

Renjun raised his hand again.

Mrs. Park seemed to be trying to ignore him at first, looking pointedly towards the other side of the class. He rose halfway out of his seat, hand waving.

“Yes?” she finally said, the word a sigh.

“We haven’t seen any examples that include gay or lesbian couples,” Renjun observed. “Don’t you think it would be helpful if the relationships we discussed were more diverse?”

The rest of the class whispered quietly among themselves. They could sense the tension developing.

“These examples are from my teaching guide,” Mrs. Park explained. “They were given to me. I didn’t choose them.”

“Oh.” Renjun’s hand dropped down to his desk, hovering uncertainly above it. “Can’t you just add another one, then?”

“If you have more questions, could they wait until after class?” She gave a strained smile.

He crossed his arms, and sunk down in his chair.

As she’d suggested, when class was over and the other students had left, Renjun met her at her desk. She was sitting down and putting on her glasses, wiping a spot of dirt from a lens with the ends of her “West Gardens 2013 Mental Health Awareness Walk” tee. She always dressed in t-shirts and sweatpants, as if she was a PE teacher. Renjun did not know how she got away with it.

When she saw him, she folded her hands in front of her and said, “Alright, Renjun. What can I do for you?”

“Well. I just think that this class was missing a lot of information. There are LGBTQ students at this school, too. Lessons about only straight sex aren’t going to be applicable to them.”

She reached down into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a thin binder. “This is the criteria for the class,” she told him. “It’s government mandated. I’m afraid I can’t stray too far from these lesson plans. Not to mention the calls I might get from angry parents.”

“But it isn’t fair,” Renjun complained. “Who cares about the angry calls? You’re the health teacher. Shouldn’t the health of your gay students be important to you, too?”

“It is,” she assured him. “But there isn’t anything I can do about it.”

“Is there anything _I_ can do about it?” he asked.

She laughed. “It’s not something the students can decide, Renjun.”

He glared at her, at the little binder on her desk, then marched out of the room.

—

And he marched into the student council room at the end of the day, still seething three hours later.

“I’m mad,” he announced.

Donghyuck, who’d arrived on time for a change and was sitting at his assigned desk, said, “Thanks for the update.”

“About what?” asked Jeno.

“About health class!” Renjun dropped his backpack on the floor to better facilitate his angry strut, back and forth across the front of the room. “Mrs. Park claims she cares about all the students, but she can’t even give us a fair and balanced lesson! I don’t care what the government says. She should be doing better!” He raised a fist. “I am utterly _fractious_!”

“Have you just read that word in a book?” Yoorim said.

Renjun paused and frowned. “Did I use it right?”

Yoorim gave an ambivalent hand wobble.

“Anyway,” he said. “It’s ridiculous. I tried to talk to her, but she totally brushed me off.”

“Back up for a second. What is it that set you off? The thing about the examples?”

“The whole thing! All of it!” He planted his hands on his hips and huffed. “For a class about sex, it was the most one-dimensional look at it I’ve ever seen. Are the LGBTQ kids just supposed to google everything themselves? The only time gay people were mentioned at all was on the slide about AIDs. That’s so incredibly homophobic and misleading. And trans people didn’t get a mention at all. She only talked about strictly binary, penis-in-vagina sex the entire time.” Jeno, Donghyuck, and Yoorim all shrunk a little at the blunt phrasing, but Renjun pushed ahead anyway. “Didn’t you notice at all?”

“I’m sorry, Renjun,” Yoorim said, seeming put in her place. “I guess it didn’t occur to me. But I see what you mean now. So if you want help with anything — if you need me to do something, I’ll do what I can. Okay?”

He felt the anger dissipate slightly, and for some reason, he felt his eyes tearing up. Maybe it was from the frustration, maybe from the relief at being acknowledged.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Where should we start?” Jeno asked.

Renjun sucked in a breath. “What? You too?”

“If it’s important to you, then it’s important to the rest of us.” He smiled.

Renjun remembered again how badly he wanted to kiss Jeno, except now the feeling was increased a thousand times. If Donghyuck and Yoorim weren’t right there, he might have dived over the desks and planted one right on Jeno’s perfect lips.

“I’ll help, too,” Donghyuck said.

“What?” Renjun said again, incredulously.

“I’m — I’m not an asshole.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“That’s debatable,” Yoorim said.

“I mean, I’m not _that_ kind of asshole,” Donghyuck clarified. “I’m not a homophobe or whatever. So if you need another person, I’ll help.”

A million pounds were lifted off Renjun’s shoulders. He went to his desk and sat down, then took out his notebook. “Okay. Where do you think the best place to start would be? Should we try going to the principal?”

Just then, Mrs, Jang came strolling in, fashionably late by five minutes. “Going to the principal about what?” she asked, slapping her pile of ungraded papers, which she’d clearly been trying to work on while walking at the same time, clumsily onto the front table.

“About health class,” Renjun said. “Our sex ed lesson wasn’t comprehensive at all.”

“Oh my.” A few papers from her pile slopped over onto the floor.

“Yeah. I already tried talking to Mrs. Park about it, but she hardly listened.”

“Sex ed is a touchy subject, Renjun,” she warned. “Mrs. Park’s hands are tied. And I’m not sure the principal can really help you, either. He doesn’t decide the curriculum.”

Exasperated, he rested his chin on his desk and stretched his arms across it, like he was reaching towards his ambiguous goal, or for a bureaucratic neck to strangle. “Then who am I supposed to go to for help? I can’t really petition the government…well, I could, but the change would be so slow…”

“I know the school board is responsible for approving curriculum at the beginning of each school year. You could try going to them.”

“The school board,” Renjun grumbled, eyes narrowed.

“Do you have experience with the school board?” Jeno asked.

Renjun did not like the school board. He’d brushed elbows with them on a few previous occasions during his tenure as class president. During his freshman year, he’d had to go to a school board meeting in order to seek approval for the establishment of a West Gardens GSA. “We don’t have the funding for another club right now,” the board president had said. He was a crinkly-skinned man with a mutton chop mustache and beady rat eyes. “And we are generally wary of permitting clubs with a political agenda.”

“It isn’t a political club,” Renjun had responded.

The school board president had coughed wetly into his fist. Renjun suspected he had mold-green, rotten little lungs, to match his mold-green, rotten little soul.

Just two weeks later, the school board approved the founding of the anime club.

Renjun had since flipped off the West Gardens front lawn sign everytime it displayed _QUARTERLY SCHOOL BOARD MEETING, MONDAY NIGHT._

“I have a little experience with them,” he murmured.

“Well, if that’s our only choice,” Yoorim said, “then we ought to get started on a presentation. The next board meeting is next week, right?”

Renjun nodded and began to dig in his pencil bag for a pen.

“Hold on,” Mrs. Jang interrupted. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, this is a student council meeting, not a free period. We’ve got other things we need to discuss.”

As she began to search her haphazard stack of papers for the student council schedule, Renjun covertly pulled out his phone and texted to their student council group chat: _when do you guys want to meet up?_

—

They decided on Yoorim’s house, because it was closest to the school, and because Renjun just _knew_ that if he invited everyone to his house, his mother would coo over Jeno and Donghyuck and whisper with unsuccessful secretiveness in Renjun’s ear, “They’re both so cute — any potential for a _boyfrie—”_ and Renjun would have to banish her to the upstairs for the remainder of the evening lest she embarrass him in a way from which he could not recover.

It didn’t matter much anyway, since Renjun was just as at home in Yoorim’s house as he was at his own. When the four of them walked in the front door, Yoorim’s mother and father were in the kitchen, repainting the cabinets. Yoorim was the spitting image of both of them. Her mother was a tall, thin woman who drank soy lattes and owned a yoga studio. Her father was a tall, thin man who wore plaid shirts and wrote math textbooks. However, her mother could be a little standoffish, so her father was the one who jogged around the kitchen table and gave Renjun a high-five-turned-fist-bump. "What's up, my man?" he said.

Yoorim's father usually referred to Renjun by some variation of _man, dude,_ or _bro._ Renjun did not really have any "bros," and he did not have a father, so Yoorim's dad was his only source of "guy time." He was also the only reason he'd seen the original _Star Wars_ trilogy. They'd marathoned them together while eating butterless (Yoorim's parents were firmly anti-butter) and lightly salted popcorn. Yoorim had walked in, returning from a trip with her mother to the mall, seen Renjun and her dad together on the couch and shouting at the TV, and asked, "Did I just step into an alternate dimension?"

Her dad shook hands with Jeno and Donghyuck. “Welcome to Chez Heo,” he announced. He scratched at the place where a bit of white paint had stuck to his cheek. “Don’t be afraid to ask for anything. _Mi casa es su casa._ ”

Yoorim groaned under her breath. “Okay, Dad. They get the idea. We’re going to use the living room, okay?”

“Sure. You guys want any lemonade? Maybe a snack? Some organic fruit jerky?”

Donghyuck half-raised his hand like he might have, but Yoorim steered him through the doorway into the next room over.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “He doesn’t get out much.”

She borrowed her mother’s laptop from the study and they sat around the coffee table. Renjun had decided they would make a short presentation to show the school board, filled with facts and statistics to blow their old, crusty, dust-coated minds.

“Look at this,” Renjun said, sliding his phone in front of Yoorim. “This says that only four percent of LGBTQ kids report having positive discussions about LGBTQ identities in classes. Four percent! That’s practically nothing.”

“Wow.” Yoorim copied down the stat for the Powerpoint. “I didn’t think it would be so low.”

“I’m surprised,” Jeno said, “that our school’s like this. Mrs. Park especially always seemed pretty open about sex in general. I don’t get why it’s such a hang up.”

Renjun puffed his cheeks. He wanted to agree with Jeno, but for some reason, he thought it seemed exactly like West Gardens.

“I’m sad,” he said.

He waited for Donghyuck to reply _thanks for the update,_ but the snark never arrived.

“What’s wrong?” Yoorim asked.

“I love West Gardens,” Renjun said. “I painted my bedroom our school colors. I’ve been class president every year. But West Gardens doesn’t care about me, or any other students like me. After everything I’ve done for this school, you’d think they could do this much for me. You’d think they could make classes a place where I don’t feel like an afterthought — not even an afterthought,” he corrected. “A nobody.”

The other three were silent. They looked down at the coffee table, faces grim.

“I’m sorry,” Jeno said. “And you’re right. It isn’t fair at all. They owe us better than that.”

“I probably have the loudest voice of any student in the school,” Renjun continued hoarsely, “what with my position on the student council — so if I can’t change anything, then no one can. It’s so frustrating.”

“But we haven’t even gone to the school board yet,” Yoorim tried. “Maybe they _will_ listen. Don’t get all pessimistic yet, okay?”

Just then, Yoorim’s father walked into the living room, carrying a tray with four glasses of lemonade and a stack of crunchy rice cakes. “I brought snacks,” he said obliviously. “Healthy snacks. For increased brain power. The lemonade is naturally sweetened.”

“Thanks, dad,” Yoorim said.

He set the tray on the table and noticed Renjun’s frown. “Hey,” he said. “Is something the matter, bud?”

“The bureaucracy is bringing me down,” Renjun responded.

“It’ll be okay,” Yoorim’s father assured him, though he didn’t know what he was assuring him about. “What happened to eternal optimist Huang Renjun? What would he say to sudden pessimist Huang Renjun right now?”

“That I’m being silly, and that nothing gets done with a broken spirit,” Renjun answered.

“I think you should listen to him,” Yoorim’s father said.

Renjun dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, then slapped himself once on each cheek. He would not let West Gardens win. He would not let it break his spirit.

“Alright,” he announced, standing up and placing a socked foot on top of the coffee table as if it were a stool. “No slacking now. Let’s get through this thing.”

“Get your foot off my table,” Yoorim said.

“I think better when I have something to stand on. That way I can pretend it’s the body of my vanquished enemy.”

“Then please use the couch instead.”

He did as she told him, gears in his brain churning, determination filling him with a new fire.

—

They finally went their separate ways at five o’clock, presentation completed. Renjun was quite proud of it and had taken the time to add several cool transitions between slides. One of them made it look as if the text was pulled onscreen by an alligator on a skateboard, his helmet the colors of the rainbow flag.

He stayed up late that night rehearsing, making sure he had every single bullet point memorized. This was more important than a grade. More important than student council fundraisers. Even if the school board was a staunch boulder that refused to move out of his way, he would put up an impressive fight. It was what the student body deserved.

Finally, he got into bed at just after midnight. It was cool out, so he’d put on his coziest pajamas and snuggled under his coziest blankets. He always liked the cold, because it was an excuse for dressing in fashionable layers and drinking hot cocoa with his mom in front of the TV, which they turned onto the channel that made it look like a roasting fireplace. He found that despite the weather, he was always warm when he was at home. It was the place he always felt happy and secure. He wanted West Gardens to be that way for him, too.

He shut his eyes. He was still a little high on angry adrenaline from that afternoon. It would take him a while to fall asleep, so he thought he might lull himself with a nice little fantasy, a mini-movie to play inside his head. He’d just explored the Grand Canyon kiss earlier, so maybe this time he’d pay a visit to the Eiffel Tower kiss, which involved a shocking and dramatic fall over the side of an iron beam, then Jeno’s grip around his wrist to save him from imminent death, pulling him back up and into the safety of his arms. Then they would look out over the lights of the City of Love, and Renjun would think how lovely it was that he was alive to see it, and then —

His phone buzzed on his nightstand. Renjun rolled over and picked it up.

It was Jeno.

 _Hi Renjun!!!_ 😊😊😊 _I hope I’m not waking you up or anything._ 😅 _I just wanted to make sure you’re still doing okay after today! I know it was stressful for you._

Renjun covered his face with his pillow and squealed happily into it. Jeno had only texted him about student council stuff before. This was new territory. It was thrilling.

_yes! i feel much better now!! i think the meeting tomorrow will go well so i am not stressing too much!!_

_That’s good! I know you can do it so don’t worry!!!_ 😊💪🏳️🌈

_thanks!! i’m glad the three of you will be there with me too!! :D_

_Of course!_ 😁👍💙🦷

_what’s with the tooth_

_I didn’t mean to hit that one._

_Unless you like the tooth._

_actually it kind of creeps me out_

_I’m sorry I don’t know how to unsend it._ 😢

Renjun giggled, the top edge of his phone touching his forehead.

_well, time for bed. i’ll see you tomorrow jeno!!_

_Yeah! See you!_ 😴😴😴

Renjun pressed a kiss to his phone screen, then shut it off, replaced it on his stand, and waited for a sweet dream to find him. He hoped Jeno would be in it.

—

The school board meeting was at six PM. Renjun had been nervous about it all day during school, so his mother, as a special treat to help him relax, brought him out to eat beforehand at Renaldo’s Pizza Barn, a local establishment which served the prized West Gardens classic: filet mignon pizza. They had gotten their favorite booth, the one by the front window which had been prematurely dressed in Christmas lights, and stuffed their faces with pointlessly fancy pizza slices.

“Don’t be anxious, sweetie,” she told him, dabbing at the sauce at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “You’re always so wonderful at presentations and speeches. I’m sure they’ll be blown away.”

“It’s not that,” he said glumly, picking a too-big piece of basil and wiping it off on his plate. “The school board has preconceived biases. I don’t think it matters at all what I say to them. They won’t listen.”

She frowned at the unfairness. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something. Maybe I could talk to some other parents. Do you think they’d be more willing to listen to parents than students?”

“Maybe,” Renjun said. “It could be worth a shot.”

She gave his pizza-less hand a squeeze.

At quarter to six, they pulled into the school parking lot and walked into the building. The school board meetings were held in the auditorium, where a table was assembled at one side of the stage, leaving the other side open for speakers. Renjun’s mother kissed him goodbye (he’d requested that she not attend the meeting, as it would put him even more on edge) and reminded him to text her when it was over.

Shortly after, Yoorim arrived with her mother, taking the seats next to Renjun. “Hey,” she said. “I’ve got the flashdrive with the Powerpoint.”

“Good.” He rubbed his stomach queasily. “Oh god. I think I ate too much. Yoorim, I’m gonna go up there and throw up all over the stage.”

“You’re just nervous. Which is decidedly unlike you.”

Renjun was used to public speaking by now. He’d been doing it since middle school, and he was on the debate team too, which put him in the spotlight at every debate competition. But there was something about the judgement, the exposure of a personal aspect of his life in front of a board of old sticks-in-the-mud, which had him spiraling.

“If you _do_ throw up,” she said, “then make sure to do it on the board president.”

As she said it, the man himself climbed up onto the stage and seated himself at the table, mutton chops especially frizzy that night. He pulled a balled up tissue from his pant pocket and hacked into it. _Moldy lungs,_ Renjun thought again. He was comforted by the knowledge that the man was ugly inside and out. He would not hold back on that stage.

Jeno and Donghyuck, who had apparently carpooled in Donghyuck’s car, entered next. They joined Renjun and Yoorim in the row, but remained quiet as the meeting began just seconds later. One of the board members buzzed harshly into his mic. Renjun didn’t hear what he said, because past Yoorim and Donghyuck’s laps, Jeno was flashing him a thumbs up and a reassuring smile, and it made the rest of the room seem like insignificant set-dressing. The anxiety dissipated. Renjun looked coolly up at the stage, waiting for his call.

“It seems the senior student council has something they’d like to talk with us about,” said a woman on the board after they’d finished their initial housekeeping. “Why don’t you guys come up on stage? There’s a laptop if you need the projector.”

The four of them filed out of their row and climbed the stage steps. Yoorim plugged the USB into the laptop and loaded their Powerpoint. A woman on the board set a five minute timer.

“Hi,” Renjun started. The edge of the projector light touched his shoulder, and he stepped out of it. “So, this week in health class we started our unit on sex education. And it became clear very quickly that what our school describes as ‘comprehensive sex education’ is not comprehensive at all.” Yoorim flicked to the first slide. “Proper comprehensive sex education should include information relevant to all students, including gay and transgender students. Here are some examples from the class which show a lack of concern for LG —”

“Hold on,” Moldy Lungs said. “Did you get cleared for this presentation ahead of time?”

“I don’t understand the question,” Renjun responded. “It’s a school board meeting. Anyone can talk about any topic, as long as it’s relevant —”

“I’m just concerned it isn’t appropriate for the board. It might have been nice to clear it ahead of time.”

Renjun pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to go off script.

“It’s completely appropriate,” Jeno said. “If sex education is appropriate for classrooms, then it’s appropriate for the adults of the school board.”

Moldy Lungs didn’t say anything else, but wrote something down on his paper.

Yoorim gave Renjun a cautious glance, then went to the next slide. This was the one Donghyuck had memorized, and he read it aloud. “Studies show that a lack of proper sex education for LGBTQ students can put them at a higher risk for the consequences of unsafe sex, like STDs or —”

Moldy Lungs coughed.

“What?” Donghyuck said.

“I’m sorry,” Moldy Lungs answered unconvincingly. “Go on.”

“What I was saying, was that —”

Moldy Lungs took out his used tissue again and blew snot into it in a trumpet-esque honk.

Yoorim checked her watch, which reminded Renjun to do the same. He looked at the clock on the auditorium wall. Their five minute slot was waning.

He waved Yoorim onto the next slide.

“Basically,” Jeno said, “there seems to be a pattern of discrimination towards LGBTQ students in the classroom. But there are statistics that show that the overwhelming majority of both students and parents are supportive of all-inclusive sex education. So we don’t see any reason for the curriculum to be so one-sided.”

“You’re oversimplifying a major issue,” Moldy Lungs said. He shook his head chidingly. “This kind of change isn’t something the school board can simply say yes or no to. There are people above us, in the Department of Education, who set regulations about sex education.”

“But the school board is in contact with those people,” Renjun objected. “Isn’t it part of your responsibility to relay to them the feelings of the student body?”

“You’re asking for a lot. It simply isn’t a feasible change.”

 _A lot, my ass,_ Renjun hissed internally. Adding a paragraph to a lesson plan was not a lot. Basic human decency was not _a lot._ It was the bare minimum.

“Maybe I’m just old-fashioned,” Moldy Lungs went on, “but I’m not sure this kind of talk belongs in the school in the first place. It’s been kept out with intention. It seems to me that the people in charge would know more about what’s right to do than the kids.”

The timer on the school board’s table went off.

Timer Woman, who shut it off, gave Renjun a sympathetic but helpless look, and said, “Sorry, guys. Time’s up.”

Renjun stormed off the side of the stage without waiting for the others. He walked out into the hall (ill-lit at this time of night, with a custodian mopping outside the bathroom) and braced both arms on the wall, staring down at the floor, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Are you alright?” Yoorim asked. She was walking down from the auditorium door, coat slung over her arm. Jeno and Donghyuck followed behind her, watching Renjun with worry.

He took in another breath. “I’m fine,” he said, meaning it. He’d seen this coming. He was angry, but not defeated. “Totally fine.”

“Good. I know that was shitty in there. I can’t believe that guy.”

“At least we tried,” Donghyuck offered. “That’s better than doing nothing.”

“And we are not done trying,” Renjun said.

“We’re not?”

“Oh, no.” Renjun leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, mind racing to construct a plan. “This is only the beginning. I just need to figure out the next step.”

—

Renjun stood on the sidewalk in front of the school. The buses rolled into the front circle, and as they did, he turned his sign on them, making sure every student got a good, long look at it. _DOWN WITH WEST GARDENS AND HOMOPHOBIA,_ it read. _SUPPORT LGBTQ STUDENTS!_ He saw a few of the kids snicker behind the glare on the bus windows. Renjun stretched his sign as high over his head as he could, jumping up and down for good measure. He would not be silenced by sneers.

A few minutes later, Yoorim came walking across the school’s front lawn, November wind whipping her hair into her face and her hands shoved into her coat pockets.

“Hey,” she shouted. “What are you doing?”

“I am protesting,” he informed her.

“What? All day?” Her eyes widened in shock. “Renjun, you’ve had perfect attendance the past three years. You’re really going to skip school today?”

Renjun grimaced at the thought, but remained resilient. “Some things are worth skipping school over. As much as it pains me, I have to give up my pride in order to enact social change.”

“Won’t the school come tell you to stop?”

He laughed heartily. “Let them try! I’m on the sidewalk, which is owned by the town, not the school. Therefore, I am not trespassing. They can’t do shit.”

“I see you’ve thought it all out.” She turned up his sign to look at it. “When did you decide this? You didn’t think to tell me?”

“It was a last minute choice,” he admitted. “At 6:08 this morning, I thought, ‘You know, I don’t have to stand for this,’ so I chugged a cup of coffee and made this sign. It’s not my best work, since I had to make it on a time crunch, but it’ll do.” It was not a glittery sign or a shimmery sign, which his handiwork typically would have been; he’d had to use his Sharpies, except he couldn’t find his bright red one, so he’d had to go with orange instead. It was not pretty, but it was functional. “You ought to go in. You don’t want to be late for first period.”

“No way,” she said. “I’m staying out here.”

“You sure?”

“Yup. You didn’t happen to bring another sign, did you?”

Renjun grinned and reached down into his backpack. “Naturally.” He unfolded it and handed it over. This one said _FIGHT FOR COMPREHENSIVE SEX ED!_ The word _comprehensive_ had to be squashed in, the final four letters all running together.

“Lovely,” Yoorim said. She took it and raised it towards the street.

—

At nine o’clock, after standing outside in the cold for almost two hours with their signs, Renjun received a text from Jeno.

 _Hey, are you and Yoorim out sick today? I haven’t seen you in any of our classes._ 😟

_we are outside on the sidewalk in protest_

_You what???_ 😱😱😱

_for the sex ed thing. we are not giving up!!_

Jeno did not respond after that. But at around nine-thirty, he came out from the side door of the school, a piece of poster board tucked under his arm.

“Hey,” he called, grinning. “Is this the protest?”

“What are you doing?” Renjun asked incredulously.

“Joining in.” He unfolded his poster. _Take a stand for LGBTQ students,_ it said, and Renjun had to admit it looked better than the signs he’d made. He’d even colored in the bubble letters with rainbow colors.

Renjun once again wanted to kiss him. He thought he would die if he didn’t, but then he remembered he was on a mission, and he would survive if only to see justice served.

“Thank you,” he told Jeno. “How’d you make that so fast?”

“I found your secret poster board stash in the student council room. Behind the bookshelf, right?”

Renjun always kept a stash in case of a poster-related emergency, like an unexpected school project or an arrow sign to point someone towards a fundraising location. Or, the least likely yet suddenly relevant possibility — a protest.

“I’m gonna have to move it,” he muttered. Even Jeno could not know his secret supply hiding spots. Especially his fancy mechanical pencil stockpile. Those things were not cheap.

“So,” Jeno said. He waggled his sign at a passing car and received no honk. “What got you out here? Did you get a follow-up from the school board?”

“No. I talked to Yangyang.”

“Yangyang?” Yoorim echoed in surprise.

“I reached out to him last night,” Renjun explained. “He knows more dirty secrets about this school than anybody. Even if he sometimes uses them for nefarious purposes. I figured he might have some info that could help me. So I got his number from Donghyuck, and he told me about a story from three years ago. Apparently, a student was holding hands with her girlfriend in the halls, and another kid made a snide remark at them. So she went to the principal and told him about the incident, and all he told her was that, if she didn’t want to get bullied, she and her girlfriend shouldn’t be acting like a couple at school.” Renjun’s face scrunched at the recollection, angry wrinkles forming between his brows and below his bottom lip. “He even gave me her contact so I could ask her about it myself. Basically, this isn’t just about health class. It’s an issue in every part of this school. So I couldn’t just let that go. I had to do something.”

“Then that settles it,” Yoorim said. “We’re out here until something changes.”

“That’s right,” Renjun agreed. “Also, my mom called some other parents and is starting a petition. So hopefully that’ll help too.”

“That’s cool of her,” Jeno said.

“Yeah. Last night she held one of the couch cushions up for me so I could pummel it like a punching bag. She is supporting me on this journey.”

Another car went by. Yoorim waggled her sign at it, and they got a honk in response. Renjun jumped and whooped.

“Now we’re cookin’ with gas!” he exclaimed. Another car went by. Another honk.

“You know,” Jeno said, “that really does give you a little serotonin boost.”

“Right? The power of protest!” Renjun grinned, then turned back towards the school. He pointed a finger at it like an arrow aimed at a target. “It’s nice to get noticed. But what we really want is for _them_ to pay us a little attention.”

“They will,” Jeno said. “We’ll make it impossible to ignore us.”

Renjun very much liked the sound of this.

—

For lunch, the three of them walked to McDonald’s, where the cashiers gave them suspicious looks as if they knew they were supposed to be in school, but served them anyway. They walked back to West Gardens with their greasy paper bags and ate on the bench across the street from the school, all squeezed in together though it was clearly meant for two people rather than three.

“I can’t believe no one’s come out to talk to us yet,” Yoorim said, licking ketchup off her finger as she tried to figure out the best way of consuming her sloppily constructed burger. “They must know it doesn’t look good to have students protesting on the sidewalk.”

“They are cowards,” Renjun concluded, taking a ferocious bite of his chicken nugget.

“Do you ever think about what might happen if they punish us or something?” Yoorim asked. “What if they boot us off the student council for daring to speak out?”

“Then we become vigilantes. Simple students by day, underground government body by night.”

“So you’d be okay with that?”

Just like his perfect attendance, Renjun had decided that the student council was something he would give up if he had to. A few days ago, this might have seemed unspeakable to him. Student government was one of his very favorite things. But now, it seemed like a tiny sacrifice for something bigger.

“Yeah,” he said, gaze coasting over the drab West Gardens brick. “I’d be okay. What about you two?”

“Yeah,” Yoorim agreed.

Jeno was quiet for a moment. “We’d still hang out, though?”

“Of course we would,” Renjun said. He hadn’t realized that Jeno had become so attached to the student council after just a few months. “Didn’t you hear the thing about us being vigilantes?”

Jeno smiled and tipped his container of fries in Renjun’s direction.

After lunch, they returned to their positions on the sidewalk. The school day was nearing its end, and though they hadn’t gotten any news from the school or anymore students to join them, they’d gotten lots of honks, and even a couple people who’d pulled over and asked about what it was they were protesting. By the time two o’clock swung around, it was clear that this would not be their final day. They’d keep coming back until a difference had been made.

The buses gathered at the front circle, and cars began wheeling out of the parking lots. One stopped at the side of the road and began to roll down its window, which excited Renjun until he recognized it to be Donghyuck’s ugly red car, with Donghyuck peering out at them with a bemused expression.

“ _This_ is what you guys have been doing all day?”

“You bet,” Renjun said.

“You doing it again tomorrow?”

“Yup.”

Donghyuck gave them a pitying once-over. “Then you’ll need more numbers than _this,”_ he said. “Let me see what I can do.”

—

When Renjun and Yoorim arrived that morning, there were far, _far_ more than three people.

Donghyuck had managed to rope a large number of his friends into attending. Renjun recognized a few of the disgraced Halloween contest winners, whom he still held a grudge against, but maybe if they were willing to protest with him on the streets they couldn’t be _that_ bad. And on top of that, most of the basketball team had shown up with Jeno, including Jaemin, who carried a sign of his own and gave Renjun a big wave. There was a small handful of other students, who did not seem to be invited by anyone, but who must have caught wind of the whole thing and joined of their own accord. All in all, there were around twenty-five of them.

“Holy cow,” Renjun whispered. “Now this is something the school can’t ignore.”

“No kidding.” Yoorim adjusted her scarf and slipped in among the ranks of the protesters. It was especially and unexpectedly cold that day, all the kids dressed in their winter coats and hats. Renjun, teeth chattering, found Jeno at the far side of the crowd.

“Can you believe this?” he said. “I never thought we’d have this many people…”

“It’s really great.” Jeno looked at Renjun’s sign as he unfolded it from his bag. “Oh, you’ve done a new one.”

“Yup.” Renjun displayed it proudly. He’d glitter-ified the letters and used a neon pink poster board rather than the standard white. At the bottom was an illustration of Trevor Trout holding hands with another male-coded fish. “I had all last night to work on it, so I thought I’d go big.”

“Not sure how they’ll feel about you appropriating the school mascot.”

“Trevor is a bisexual icon. They’re just afraid to admit it.”

Jeno laughed. Renjun wanted to trap his laugh in a jar and carry it with him wherever he went.

“Hey,” Jeno said suddenly. “Are your hands cold?”

“Oh — I guess I forgot to bring my gloves.” Renjun flexed his bare, chilled-white fingers where they gripped his sign.

“Here.” Jeno took off his own black wool gloves and handed them over, not waiting to be asked. “Put these on.”

“But don’t you need them?”

“I’ll be okay. You’re our leader. Your not freezing to death is very important to our cause.” Then Jeno walked away, over to where Jaemin was standing with the other basketball team boys.

Reluctantly, Renjun put them on. They hung a little loose on him, but they were still warm from Jeno’s hands. He pressed his knuckles to his cheek, relishing the softness. Then he sniffed the palm. It smelled like Jeno.

“You’re not actually smelling those gloves, are you?”

Renjun screamed, face beet red, and nearly dropped his sign.

Yoorim snorted. “You’re totally hopeless.”

“I wasn’t _smelling_ them,” Renjun lied. “I was just… itching my nose.”

“Sure. Anyway. Have you thought about asking any of the underclassmen to come out?”

“Oh!” Renjun scrambled to pull his phone from his pocket. “Yoorim, you’re a genius! It’ll be even harder to ignore us if they’re missing students across grade levels. I’ll text Chenle.”

_hey chenle!!!! me and some of the seniors are protesting out on the front sidewalk. i recommend you join us. it will be good experience for you as a student leader and political novice._

_BOSS!!!!! i would be honored to protest by your side!!!_

_bring your friends._

“That was easy,” Renjun remarked. “He doesn’t even know what we’re protesting.”

“Just what I figured.”

The front doors of the school opened shortly after, and Chenle, Jisung, and about ten other underclassmen ran across the grass.

“No,” Chenle was saying, talking elaborately with his hands. “When you hold a picket sign, it’s best to move it as much as possible. That way it’s extra eye-catching. Like those sandwich board dudes outside on street corners. Really spin it around. Fast enough to take someone’s head off.”

“How are people supposed to read it, then?” Jisung asked.

“You’re missing the point. It isn’t about the message. It’s about the _experience._ What do you pay attention to better, books or movies?”

“Movies, I guess.”

“See? It’s all about the visual flair. The pizzazz!”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Chenle held his phone near his mouth. “Siri, what is ‘pizzazz?’”

Renjun laughed too hard at this to hear what the answer was.

From then on, it was a trickle of students out the door, joining in at the edges of their gathering. Renjun decided they needed some more organization, so he moved out front where everyone could see him and began a chant that they could time their stomps and sign shakes to: _No sex education without representation! No sex education without representation!_ Renjun was quite proud of coming up with that one on the spot.

The car honks were coming in at record speed. One guy slowed way down and reached a hand out the window to give all the kids high fives. Another person tossed an empty Gatorade bottle out the window at them, but Renjun decided that this was a moment to rally the crowd, so he picked it up off the ground, held it in the air like a trophy and said, “They think this will stop us! But they are wrong! They will never bring us down! We are stronger, and we do not stoop to their level!” Everyone cheered. Renjun tucked those lines away at the back of his brain, in case he might someday use it in a presidential address.

There was a finger on his shoulder. “Renjun,” Yoorim said. “Look.”

He turned. A van had pulled into the school parking lot, _NEWS8 TEAM_ emblazoned on its side. A woman with a short hairdo that was sleek in the front and poofy in the back and a microphone in hand wobbled across the lot in her pointy black heels. A camera man followed.

“We’re with the local news,” the lady said, clumsily stepping up onto the sidewalk. “We wanted to do a quick interview about your protest. Is someone here the leader?”

“Me! Me me me!” Renjun shoved through the crowd to meet her, skidding to a stop in front of the camera. “I’m Huang Renjun,” he said. “Senior class president. We’re protesting our school’s issues regarding its treatment of LGBTQ students.”

“Can you tell us a little more about that?” She tipped the mic in his direction.

“Our school doesn’t include discussion of non-straight sexualities in its sex ed curriculum. And it has a history of silencing the voices of gay students. Just the other day I went to the school board, and they wouldn’t even hear our objections out.” He was becoming impassioned, and took the mic right out of her hand, which she watched with round eyes. He faced the camera straight on, and continued, “This is why we’re protesting. So if anyone’s watching this and wants to help, come protest with us! Or call West Gardens directly and let them know what you think. We won’t stop until something changes!”

“Wow.” She gently took the mic back from him. “Well, you heard it here first. Thank you, Mr. Huang.”

She and the camera moved away to interview someone else. Renjun looked at Yoorim.

“Did that go okay?” he asked.

“The message came across loud and clear, I think.” She raised a finger over her head. “You’ve got a hair sticking up in the back, though.”

He whined and desperately flattened it. His first run-in with the press, photobombed by a cowlick.

—

Renjun took a break in the afternoon. His knees were achy from standing all day, so he stretched his legs out over the edge of the bench, wiggling his toes in his boots. In his bag was his lunch, a baggie of cheddar goldfish and a pear. He took off Jeno’s gloves to eat them, not wanting to get them all crumb-y and sticky, and laid them across his lap, the black wool catching the spare bit of heat supplied by the sun.

A shadow passed in front of him. He assumed it was Jeno, and eagerly, he looked up from his food, ready to pat the space on the bench beside him. Instead, it was Jaemin, standing with a hip cocked, beanie pulled tight over his ears.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I sit here?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Renjun did not really consider Jaemin a friend yet, but he had come and helped with the protest, which at very least meant he was an ally.

“Cool.” Jaemin plucked his snack — a Milky Way bar — from his pocket and began to unwrap it. There was a moment of semi-awkward silence as Renjun waited for Jaemin to say something (because he wasn’t sure why Jaemin had come over if not to talk), while Jaemin chomped on his candy bar. Across the street, the others were still marching up and down the sidewalk, chanting and raising their signs in a sports game-esque wave down the line. Renjun laughed and tossed back a goldfish.

“They really rallied around you,” Jaemin observed. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“Thanks. But it was the whole student council who did it. Not just me.”

Just then, a long stream of traffic filled the street. Jeno started at one end of the school yard and sprinted down the entire stretch of the sidewalk, chasing the cars like an excited golden retriever, begging for honks. Several cars in the line hit their horns, and Jeno jumped in joy. Donghyuck came up behind him and jumped on his back so that Jeno could lift him up in the air, letting his sign tower above the rest. They laughed, and the other students cheered.

“It’s nice to see him having fun for a change,” Jaemin said.

Renjun stopped crunching a fish mid-chew. “Who? Jeno?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think being on the student council has helped him a lot. It’s made him happier.” Jaemin watched Jeno, smiling softly, one arm thrown lazily over the back of the bench. Renjun wondered what it was like to be Jeno’s best friend — the person Jeno told everything to. He knew Jeno and Jaemin had been best friends since they were practically infants. Maybe that meant they were even closer than Renjun and Yoorim were, though that seemed an impossibility. “He hasn’t had a great time in high school, you know. This year, it was his parents splitting up. The year before that, his cat he’d had since he was little died. Sophomore year, he hurt his knee and had to sit out of basketball for half the year. And freshman year, he got rejected by that basketball team guy. He’s probably the unluckiest person I know.”

Renjun blinked. “What was that last one? The rejection?”

Jaemin rubbed the back of his neck, as if nervous at saying too much. “Well. We joined the basketball team our freshman year. There was a junior on the team that Jeno fell for hardcore. I don’t think he’d ever had a crush before that, at least not a real one. He was so shy about it — he followed him around like a lost puppy, and talked about him to me all the time. I might have gotten sick of it, but he was so happy that there was no way I could.” Jaemin’s nostalgic smile crumpled. “It took him all year to work up the courage to finally confess. I didn’t see it happen, of course, but from what he told me about it after, it sounded rough. He got rejected flat out. And not very nicely, either. He was a wreck for weeks. Skipped school a few times. He even wanted to quit the basketball team, though I convinced him to stay.” There was a sad flicker in Jaemin’s eyes. Renjun knew that look — you can love a friend so strongly, you feel their hurt like it’s your own. “Sometimes I wonder if it ruined dating for him forever. He’s seemed so scared of it ever since.”

Renjun wasn’t sure how to process this. He hadn’t even had an inkling that Jeno might be interested in boys, but the unfortunate story itself did not make that feel like a positive development.

The look in Jaemin’s eyes cleared, and was replaced by something alert and cautious. “He told you, right?” he asked. “He told you he was gay?”

“No,” Renjun said quietly. “He didn’t.”

Jaemin’s mouth hung open. “I — since he was out here with the signs and stuff, I figured he would have —” Nervously, he got up from the bench. “Sorry, Renjun. I’ll see you later.” He quickly looked both ways before running back across the street to the protest. Renjun watched him as he found Jeno among the crowd and leaned in close, whispering something in his ear. Jeno’s face went momentarily blank. Then he placed a forgiving hand on Jaemin’s shoulder and steered him away so they could talk somewhere quieter, but not before he glanced over at where Renjun sat, making a brief moment of cool, questioning eye contact.

Renjun’s heart beat hopefully, but uncertainly. He placed his hands over Jeno’s gloves, rubbing his thumb over the soft wool.

“Hey.” Renjun had not even noticed Yoorim crossing over to meet him, standing at the side of her bench with her hands stuffed in her pockets. “Renjun. There’s someone from the school to see you.”

“There’s what?”

“A lady from the main office. She says they want to talk to you for a minute.”

As she said, there was a woman standing outside the school’s front entrance, shivering in her cardigan as she waited.

“Is this a good thing?” Renjun asked.

Yoorim smiled wryly. “It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

—

Renjun walked into school the following day feeling as if everything had gone back to normal. He was still the senior class president. There were no more protests on the front sidewalk. Everyone seemed to have forgotten the whole thing, like they hadn’t just been skipping class to stand in the cold.

At least one thing was different. The school had promised him that they would reassess the sex ed curriculum. He did not know if this was a victory at all — “reassess” was a vague word, maybe just meant to appease him — but he would take what he could get. They hadn’t liked the interview on the news. And they hadn’t liked his mother’s letter, signed by fifty other parents, that they’d received yesterday afternoon. It was nice to know that he had the power to make them bristle, and in a way, that was a victory in and of itself. His voice had been heard.

He stopped in the hall, a few yards away from where Jeno stood at his locker. He breathed in, put on a chipper grin, and walked over.

“Hey Jeno,” he said brightly.

“Hey.” Jeno set his binder inside his locker. “Looks like Mr. President’s finally getting some legislation passed.”

“Aww, shucks. It was really all of us. Oh, by the way —” He reached into his coat pocket. “I forgot to give you back your gloves. Here. Thanks for letting me borrow them.”

“No problem.” Jeno took them back. He cradled them in both hands, fabric creasing beneath his fingers.

Renjun lingered, staring at the gloves, turning the words over until he could spit them out. “What Jaemin told me yesterday —”

Jeno seemed to have been anticipating it. “Don’t worry about that. It wasn’t a secret or anything, so Jaemin’s not in trouble. In case you thought I was going to shun him or something.” He set the gloves inside his locker, making himself casually busy.

“Oh. That’s good.” Renjun pushed a little further, feeling brave. “Was there a reason you never told me?”

Jeno paused, finger hooked in the holes of his locker door. “Not really. I guess I just don’t talk about it too much.”

“But you’re ‘out?’”

“I mean, my parents know. And most of my friends. So.”

“I see.” Renjun couldn’t help but feel he’d been intentionally left out. All that talk of sexuality, and not once had Jeno said a thing about it. Maybe Renjun had simply been oblivious as always. Or maybe Jeno had been shy to let him know. Renjun didn’t want that. He wanted Jeno to feel safe around him, safe like how Renjun felt at home, beside his mom on the couch in his fuzzy PJs.

“Don’t look like that,” Jeno said, catching his frown. “It’s no big deal. Everything’s just like how it’s always been. Okay?”

“Okay,” Renjun said.

He turned around and walked away towards homeroom. He made it a little ways down, then looked back, and found that Jeno had been looking at him, too; as if they’d bumped into each other, they startled and looked away, moving apart, though Renjun was waiting for the moment they’d move close to each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm afraid to report that this is not the only soapbox chapter in this fic but the other one is a while down the road so hopefully u will forgive me uwu
> 
> thank u all for reading as always (and for ur patience between updates)!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	10. Fall Fair

It was a Friday night, and Yoorim sat in Renjun’s desk chair, spinning it around as she ate a salt water taffy and flicked through her phone. She and Renjun were already in their pajamas after dinner and intended to watch _Clueless_ together before bed (it was a perennial sleepover favorite), but Renjun was still too distracted by the events from earlier that week to properly enjoy a movie. He lay on his bed, arms drawn up into his sleepy-time hoodie and crossed beneath it, pursing his lips.

“You’re overthinking it,” Yoorim said. “Jeno probably just forgot he hadn’t already told you. It isn’t some big conspiracy, Renjun.”

“No. I can tell.” He flipped over and buried his face in his pillow. “He probably didn’t tell me he was gay because he knew that _I_ was, and maybe he thought that if I knew, that I would assume he was available and want to date him, except he doesn’t want to date _me_ , so he didn’t tell me because he wanted to spare my feelings —”

“That’s very elaborate. I don’t even think Jeno’s clever enough to be so deceiving.”

“I don’t see any other reason for it than because he doesn’t like me. Or he’s avoiding me. Or he doesn’t trust me.”

Yoorim shrugged. “Fine, Renjun. Maybe he doesn’t like you.”

Renjun screamed into his pillow. The scream was muffled and flattened by the fabric. He raised his head again, face red from exertion. “God, please, just send me a sign. Just one! Anything! I am begging you.”

Yoorim snorted.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just think that even if you got a sign, you wouldn’t recognize it.” She sucked sassily on her taffy.

“That is very rude of you to say.”

“Just face it. You can be a little self-absorbed. You don’t pick up on hints most of the time.”

He turned onto his back again and stared at the ceiling. It was miserable to be in love with someone you didn’t understand. But asking Jeno questions flustered him, because he would get that honest, vulnerable, even hurt look in his eyes as though Renjun had opened him like a book, and that kind of intimacy — the emotional kind — wasn’t something Renjun had felt before. He’d never really been close with a boy like he was with Jeno, or rather, like he _wanted_ to be with Jeno.

There was a squeak as Yoorim got up from the desk chair and crossed to his bed. She sat on the edge of it and placed a comforting hand on his knee. “Don’t get all down about it. I’m sure things will work out one way or another. You have an excellent habit of making things happen.” She looked up at the posters on his wall. “Plus, there’s always plan B. What was that thing you used to say about our wedding?”

“That I was gonna marry Harry, and you were gonna marry Zayn, and we were going to have a joint best friends wedding ceremony where we walk down the aisle at the same time in an extra big church to accommodate all four families, plus the paparazzi.”

“That’s it. We could still do that.”

“I am not a seventh grader anymore, Yoorim. I’ve put away such childish fantasies.”

“Harry’s too old for you anyway.” She smiled. “I like your taste in men much better these days. More realistic. Less fanciful. Better looking, in my opinion.”

“Don’t disparage Harry Styles in front of me,” he warned, pointing a finger in her face. “You are walking a very fine line.”

Suddenly, there was a rumble over Renjun’s stomach — his phone buzzing in his hoodie pocket. He put his arms back through the sleeves and took the phone out to see a text from Jeno.

 _Hi Renjun!_ 😁👋 _I was wondering if you and Yoorim were planning on going to the fair tomorrow._

Yoorim crawled closer to try and peer over Renjun’s hands at the screen. “Is it Jeno?” she asked, looking all too excited at the prospect.

Renjun jerked his phone away. “Maybe.”

“What’s he want?”

“To know whether we’re going to the fair tomorrow.”

The West Gardens fall fair came to town every year, put on by the town’s Catholic school and church. It was the biggest local event they had, complete with vendor stalls and rides and game booths. They held it on the Catholic school lawn, and it always attracted a massive throng of attendees from all over the area.

“Oh?” Yoorim prodded him in the side. “Is this a _sign_?”

Renjun rolled his eyes. “He asked about the both of us.” Dismissively, he looked away from her and back at his phone, and typed out a reply.

_yup!! we were planning on showing up around one in the afternoon!_

_Cool! Jaemin and I are going to be there, too. So if you guys want to hang out together that would be fun!_ 😁😁😁

“See?” He flipped his phone towards her to let her see. “Jaemin’s gonna be there, too. So you can put that little _sign_ idea back in your head. It’s just a friends thing.”

The bedroom door opened, and Renjun’s mom stood there with a bowl of popcorn. “Has movie night been unexpectedly delayed?” she asked. “It’s eight o’clock.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” Renjun mumbled.

“What’s the matter?”

“Boy trouble,” Yoorim said.

“Boy trouble?” Renjun’s mom seemed equal parts concerned and tickled, trying to hold back a mischievous smile. “Oh my. What’s this all about?”

“No.” Renjun pointed a finger at his mother, then at Yoorim, and said again firmly, “ _No._ I will not engage with this. My personal drama will not be presented like some public forum.”

“Then get your butt downstairs for movie night before I give all your popcorn to Inky,” his mother said, rattling the popcorn in its bowl and leaving the door open behind her as she walked away.

—

The fall fair was five weeks late that year. Usually, it was in early-October, not mid-November, and this delay should have been the first indication that something was off. As it turned out, the fair had had problems scraping together its budget for that year, leading to a restructuring of events which had pushed the timeline back to compensate. This was a death knell; it was announced shortly before the fair opened that this would be the very last West Gardens fair. It was a tradition too old to persist.

So old, it had been around since before Renjun was born, and a deep-rooted facet of his childhood. Every year, for as long as he and Yoorim had been friends, they had attended the fair together. Every year, they rode the ferris wheel. Every year, they ate fried dough at a picnic table near the merry-go-round. Every year, Renjun won Yoorim a teddy bear at the shooting gallery, and she placed it on her bureau beside the rest of them, making up a now expansive collection of fuzzy, rainbow bears. This would be the last time. Renjun could not quite conceive of it. It felt like the end of his childhood.

Luckily, when they arrived that afternoon, the weather was uncommonly warm for November. He took this as a good omen that maybe it would be the best fair yet, a satisfying conclusion to that chapter of their lives. At the front booth, he and Yoorim paid for their all-day stamps, and he smiled down at his where it was printed on the back of his hand.

Jeno and Jaemin had agreed to meet them at the candy tent, which was just off the main path to the left. “Hey!” Jaemin called to them, waving in a huge arc over his head. However, Renjun’s gaze was only pulled towards Jeno, who looked especially cute that Saturday, wearing a pair of torn-up jeans, a navy crew neck, and a forest green coat with a hood. The autumn breeze had tossed his bangs so they stuck up sideways from his forehead, and he squinted against it, eyes curved in their familiar crescents.

“Oh god,” Renjun whispered.

“What?” Yoorim asked.

“He’s so hot that it’s actually intimidating.”

“Now this is what I call character development.”

Renjun hushed her aggressively, elbow in her side, as if he had not been the one to say something first.

“Sup,” Jaemin said as they approached. “You guys are —” He flipped his wrist to check his watch. “—eerily on time. It’s exactly one o’clock.”

Renjun smiled smugly. His timeliness was one of his greatest assets. He’d never been late to anything in his life, except for the one time in fourth grade when he’d had an open house at school, except his grandmother had gotten one of her curlers stuck in her hair and he’d had to wait impatiently in the armchair, foot tapping so fast it was practically vibrating, as his grandfather cut the curler out. Then his grandmother had been afraid she’d had a bald spot and insisted upon wearing a hat to cover it, except she could not find her own in the closet, so they’d stopped at a second-hand store on the way to the meeting where she’d chosen a large, floppy hat with fake flowers and two fake parakeets on metal wires that stuck up at the top. Renjun had begged her three times in the car to take it off before they went inside. She had not, so as they’d walked through the halls and around the classroom, looking at Renjun’s illustrated writing project where he’d described what animal he would like to be in his next life (a jellyfish, because “they are deadly and beautiful”), Renjun had wandered ahead as if he’d been attending the open house all by himself. A classmate had asked him, pointing towards the humiliating hat, “Are those your parents?” and Renjun had said, “I’ve never seen them before in my life.” The little birds on the sticks still haunted his nightmares.

Renjun looked at Jeno again. He was even hotter up close, and Renjun wondered how he’d gone so many years of his life without realizing it.

“Hey,” Jeno said, slipping in beside him as they entered the candy tent. They’d decided to grab some snacks to munch on as they wandered the fairgrounds. “Do you come to this thing every year?”

Renjun poked at a display of twizzlers, trying to seem casual even though he was blushing from more than the cool weather. It had been bad enough for the days after lock-in night, but now that he knew Jeno was gay, he felt like simple eye contact was enough to make him burst into flustered flames. _Jeno likes boys. I am a boy, which therefore means he potentially likes me._ He was still having trouble completely wrapping his head around it, because Jeno liking him seemed like a miracle, not like a simple possibility.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Me and Yoorim always go together.”

“Really? Me and Jaemin do, too.” He grinned. “It’s funny, because I don’t really remember seeing you at it before.”

Renjun had been thinking the same thing. He was sure he saw kids from school around town frequently, but he never really registered it. Home and school were two different parts of his life, and he didn’t much like for them to cross over. Maybe this meant that Jeno had officially begun straddling the line. Just like he’d only recently realized how attractive Jeno was, he’d only recently realized that Jeno was not just the boy who teased him in French class and got the second-best grades.

“What’s this?” Jeno asked, poking at the side of the free samples plate. They were little black candies, and when Jeno turned one of them up, Renjun realized it was in the shape of a scottie dog. “Look! It’s Inky.”

Renjun giggled and took the candy, sniffing it. He wrinkled his nose. “Oh! It’s licorice.”

“I’ve never had real licorice before. Just the licorice-flavored jelly beans.”

“Try it.” Renjun handed it back. “I don’t like licorice. Maybe you will, though.”

Jeno popped it in his mouth and chewed. He stopped suddenly, eyebrows knitting, lips twisting in a disgusted frown. Renjun laughed harder, thumping Jeno on the shoulder. While Jeno slowly managed to get the candy down, swallowing a cough with it, Renjun bent over the samples tray, taking a photo of the little dogs to show Inky when he got home.

They moved on through the aisles, dodging a gang of kids who ran with lollipops in their hands.

“What kind of candy do you like?” Jeno asked.

“Hmm.” Renjun looked up at the wall of candy. They had some that you could bag yourself, sold by weight. “I like gummy candy. Like gummy bears and stuff.”

“Me too,” Jeno said. “Wanna get some to split?”

This inexplicably made Renjun blush. _We are candy soulmates,_ he decided.

“Sure,” he said.

They bought an entire pound of assorted gummy bears in a bag. When they went up to the counter to pay, Renjun craned his head around for Yoorim. She and Jaemin were perusing the fancy chocolates, heads bent low together and whispering as if this was a very important decision.

“Yoorim,” Renjun called. “Get me a white chocolate truffle!”

She flashed him a thumbs up and added it to their box.

Afterwards, the four of them meandered along the main strip, chewing their candies and trying to decide what to do next. Jeno held the gummy bear bag between them so Renjun could help himself. He plucked a handful, examined them, and dropped the yellow ones back into the bag.

“You don’t like yellow?” Jeno asked. He had an amused look in his eyes, as if he was adding this to his mental list of _Renjun Facts,_ the one he’d started while accosting Renjun on Inky’s walk.

“Nah. I don’t like lemon-flavored stuff. The red ones are my favorite.”

Jeno promptly began separating out the yellow bears and stuffing them in his coat pocket. “Then I will eat them for you,” he said chivalrously.

Renjun smiled, and swayed to bump into Jeno’s side. Jeno bumped him back. Renjun didn’t look at Jeno, too shy to do it, but he knew he was smiling, too.

Finally, they decided their first ride of the afternoon would be the scrambler. This was a staple of the West Gardens fall fair — Renjun even had pictures of him and Yoorim riding it from years past, taken by his mother on her fancy camera. As soon as they stepped into line, Renjun tapped Yoorim on the shoulder and said, “Rock paper scissors.”

“Rock paper scissors?” Jaemin echoed. “What for?”

“To see who gets the inside seat,” Yoorim explained. “The inertia makes it so whoever is on the inside gets crushed between the other person and the side of the seat. It is quite painful.”

Renjun and Yoorim shook their fists to a count of three. Yoorim threw out paper. Renjun threw out scissors.

“Yes!” Renjun yelled.

Yoorim slumped. “Jeez. Your hips are so bony. They’ll dig right into me. I’ll be covered in bruises.”

“Then maybe you ought to brush up on your rock paper scissors skills.” Renjun performed his Victory Dance, usually reserved for battles of wit, there in the scrambler line.

Jaemin glanced at Jeno. “Are we supposed to do that too?”

“You can have the outside seat,” Jeno conceded immediately. “I think I’ll survive it.”

“If Jeno doesn’t mind being crushed,” Yoorim said, “maybe you should ride with him. He can bear the brunt of your knobbly bones. I’m sure Jaemin would be a gentleman and spare me the pain.”

“But I like crushing _you,_ ” Renjun objected.

The ride operator opened the gate. No time left to swap pairings around; Renjun and Yoorim walked together to one of the scrambler seats. “After you, miss,” Renjun offered, spreading an arm towards it with a shit-eating grin. She smacked his arm away and clamored inside.

Jeno and Jaemin settled in a seat a little ways away. Renjun remembered something suddenly and waved in Jeno’s direction. “Zip your pocket,” he called, miming the action. “The gummy bears!”

Jeno chortled and did as he was told. Otherwise, he’d be spraying yellow gummy bears as the ride swung around, and with how fast that thing went, Renjun wondered if they might fly fast enough to take someone’s eye out. He _knew_ those yellow gummy bears could not be trusted.

There was a mechanical hiss, and the ride started to spin. At first, it was slow, how Renjun imagined it might feel to be rocked in a cradle. He and Yoorim passed the other two a couple times, giving them giddy smiles. Then it picked up speed, making Renjun’s hair fly up, forcing his body to slide along the seat. Just as Yoorim had said, the inertia bowled him into her, pinning her to the side of the seat.

“Ack!” Yoorim screamed.

Renjun laughed, making sure it was loud enough for her to hear over the roar of the ride.

He loved the dizziness of it. He had never done any drug or sipped a drop of alcohol ( _D.A.R.E._ had scared him shitless in middle school when they performed a skit about how smoking pot would make you a social outcast and eventual jobless hack), but he thought this was how it would feel. Weightless, stomach-tingling, world blurred around him.

Even when they began to slow down again, he kept screaming, hands in the air like he was descending the hill of a roller coaster.

“That was the best!” he exclaimed.

“Maybe for you.” Yoorim rubbed her arm where his elbow had pressed into it.

“Sorry,” he said. “But would it really be a West Gardens fair if one of us didn’t suffer on the scrambler?”

She smiled. “I guess not. These bruises will be a treasured memory in a week.”

He remembered again that this was the last time. He frowned at the slow-moving ground beneath them as the ride pulled to a stop.

“Are you okay?” Yoorim asked.

“I’m alright.”

“Sad about the fair?”

It was many things compounded, but the fair was the face he attached to it. He looked up at the afternoon sky, wary of it turning dark without him noticing.

Yoorim pinched his cheek, trying to tug his frown away. “Cheer up. I’ll make it the best fall fair of all time.”

Renjun had to perk up at this promise. “You will?”

“Of course. Just you wait.”

Renjun wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but he trusted her. There wasn’t anyone else he wanted beside him on a day like that one.

—

Once they’d stumbled off the scrambler (Renjun clinging to Yoorim’s arm, still too dizzy to walk straight), they went towards the back end of the fairgrounds, skirting the perimeter to take in as much as they could. Half the appeal of the fair was simply the atmosphere: the smell of fried dough in the air, the golden banners strung up between tents, the trees that dotted the fairgrounds straggly and near-bare, a few fragile leaves waving in the breeze. Renjun breathed in and breathed out, trying to capture that moment, clinging to it.

Behind the ferris wheel was the fair funhouse. Every year they changed it up so you could not grow bored of it — rearranging the mirrors, changing the places the hallways connected, making it as disorienting as possible even for longtime fair guests. He remembered how mysterious it had seemed in middle school, he and Yoorim wading through the ball pit with their heads craned back to look up at the strange chandelier, which seemed closer than it really was, like it might scrape the top of your head. As he got older, he recognized it was just a collection of illusions, pieced together by men with nail guns and tool belts, which took away some of its magic. Still, from the outside it looked impressive, bright pink walls and rainbow lettering, a twisty slide on one side, and at night, Renjun knew it would be lit up like a pinball machine, brighter than the Las Vegas strip.

“Wanna go in?” Yoorim asked him.

“Aren’t we kinda old for that?”

She shrugged. “Might still be fun. Last time, remember?” She turned to Jeno and Jaemin. “You guys wanna go?”

“Why not?” Jaemin walked ahead towards the entrance, ducking to try and peer into it. “I’ve actually never gone through, but it seems fun. Come on, guys.”

They all began to make their way down the crooked-walled hallway. Renjun thought that this was probably not an ideal attraction for claustrophobic people, because it made him feel like he’d been stuffed inside a dollhouse, complete with bright colors and plastic fixtures and too-small rooms.

They passed into the first larger space, the mirror room. There was a couple standing a little ways down, checking their distorted reflections in a wavy mirror. Renjun bounded over to another, tilting his head. It made him look stretchy, head over-large like an alien. “Come look!” he called, motioning towards the others.

“Whoa,” Jeno said, approaching behind him. He turned sideways, testing it. “I look like a goblin.”

Renjun hunched his back and curled his hands. “How’s this for goblin?” He bared his teeth, and they seemed twice as long in the mirror.

Jeno laughed and poked him playfully in the side.

Renjun shuffled down to the next mirror, glanced in it, and then immediately continued on.

“Why’d you skip it?” Jeno asked, following him.

“Made me look short,” Renjun muttered.

“So it’s a regular mirror, then.”

“Shut up.”

Jeno found another and said, “How about this one? Makes my legs look like toothpicks.”

Renjun ducked in beside him. His waist had been lifted to the middle of his chest, legs taking up three-quarters of his body. “Oh my god,” he laughed. “Yoorim! Come look at this one!”

When she didn’t answer, he turned around. She was not in the room, and neither was Jaemin.

“Where’d they go?” he said.

“I think they might have kept going,” Jeno responded.

“Without us?” Renjun pursed his lips. She’d been the one to ask him to go in, but she wasn’t even hanging out with him. He was a little peeved about it. “Well, let’s catch up with them, then. They can’t have gotten too far.”

They turned through the doorway at the end of the room. They did not find Yoorim and Jaemin, but rather an entire hall of mirrors, reflecting each other, making a maze. Renjun trailed down it, fingers ghosting the glass.

“Wow,” Jeno said. “It looks infinite, right? When you look through it.” He stood beside Renjun and pointed to their side, where the mirrors lined up just right that they seemed to make an infinite regress of doorways, all with little Renjuns and Jenos inside them.

Renjun was less interested in the illusion than the Renjun and Jeno right in front of him. Here, there was no distortion, just the two of them as they were, standing a few inches apart. It was strange to see what they looked like together. Jeno was a little taller, a little broader. He stood with a bit of a slump, lazily perfect, weight on one leg. Renjun, meanwhile, stood stock straight, a posture he’d practiced for speech and debate — he thought the way you presented yourself was just as important as what you said. He wondered what it would look like if Jeno were to wrap his arms around him, rest his chin on his shoulder.

He found Jeno’s eyes in the reflection. They looked at each other, and Renjun wondered what it was Jeno saw in that mirror. Maybe he saw the same thing. Maybe he saw something else, a Renjun made small in his sweater, like a child in grown-up’s clothes. It made him nervous to think about it.

He didn’t break the silence. He simply moved on, trying not to look into the rest of the mirrors, turning the zig-zag path out of the room. Jeno followed, indicated by the soft trod of his sneakers from behind.

Next was the spiral cylinder path, the one candy cane-painted inside that turned like a kaleidoscope. It turned slowly, safe for the children who crossed it, so Renjun stepped up onto it without a second thought, supporting himself with his hands pressed to the shifting ceiling. “Careful,” he told Jeno, not minding his own carefulness; he took another step and nearly stumbled, arms swinging.

“Oh — here —” Jeno placed his hands at Renjun’s waist to steady him. The touch was electricity, running up Renjun’s spine. His whole body flushed, and he wondered what this looked like in the mirror too. Then, just as quickly as he’d done it, Jeno pulled away, seeming to realize the awkwardness of it.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. Thanks.” The cylinder seemed suddenly too small, and Jeno too close. Renjun hurried the rest of its length, jumping off at the end.

The rest of the funhouse was a sprint, because frankly Renjun was beginning to worry that Yoorim had been kidnapped or something by a funhouse employee and he needed the sight of her to assure him she was still alive. They scrambled quickly through the ball pit then veered around the last hallway, back into the daylight outside. Thankfully, Yoorim and Jaemin stood just outside. Jaemin was saying something, and Yoorim laughed at it, touching the crook of his arm.

Renjun’s impulse was to twist his lips in annoyance, but before either of them saw, he forced a smile back on his face. “Hey,” he said. “We lost you in there.”

“Took you guys long enough,” Yoorim responded. “We thought you were right behind us, but I guess we got separated.” She looked behind her towards the horizon. “At least it’s only two-thirty. We’ve still got plenty of time to enjoy things.”

Renjun brightened up at this. She was right. There was no need to rush their final fair.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.”

—

Renjun’s favorite ride at the fall fair was the ferris wheel. He’d always been a thrill rides fiend, and this was about as close as the fall fair got, by sheer height. A few years ago he and his mother had gone to a proper amusement park for a weekend, and he’d dragged her onto all the scariest attractions, including a roller coaster with three loops. Afterwards, she had promptly given up her lunch to the women’s room toilet, so Renjun had gone a little easier on her for the remainder of their vacation, opting instead for the Merry-Go-Round and kiddie wave pool. Luckily, Yoorim was not afraid of any rides, so she and him had made a tradition of riding the ferris wheel together every year.

“Come on with us,” Renjun coaxed Jeno and Jaemin, as he and Yoorim entered at the end of the line. It was a long line — the ferris wheel was the most popular part of the fair. “We’ll sit in the seat right above you and threaten to drop our shoes on your heads.”

“Very tempting,” Jaemin said, “but I think we’re gonna go sit down for a little bit. Text us when you guys get off, though.”

“Alright.” Renjun leaned over the ropes and waved at the two of them as they departed into the crowd. He was a little disappointed that they weren’t joining them, but then again, it was Renjun-Yoorim Time, and so long as he had her, he would have a perfect, bittersweet day.

“Bet you’re sad that Jeno isn’t riding with you,” she said slyly.

“No way,” he said, clinging to her arm, resting his head on her shoulder. “I’ve got you.”

“Who do you like better, me or Jeno?”

“What’s the saying? ‘Hoes before bros.’”

“I believe you’ve got that all wrong, especially considering our dynamic, but I appreciate the sentiment.” She glanced back towards the crowd, as if making sure Jeno and Jaemin were well and truly out of earshot, and whispered, “So? What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Well. You two have been spending a lot of time together today.” She waggled her brows. “Any sparks? Romance?”

“Not really.” He paused, then admitted, “He put his hands on my waist.”

“He what?” Her eyebrows stopped their waggling and flew up.

“Not in a sexy way. Just in a keeping-me-from-falling kind of way.” He toyed with the sleeves of his coat. “Do you… do you think it means something anyway?”

“I dunno, Renjun. I wasn’t there. You tell me.”

“It’s hard to tell.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Oh Yoorim, my life is so hard. And he looks _so_ cute today, it’s driving me crazy.”

“Just play it cool.”

“I can’t! Everytime I look at him he does this little smile and I just want to smooch it off his face.”

“I believe you used to call that his smirk,” she pointed out.

“I’m — I’m a changed man,” he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes bemusedly.

Fifteen minutes passed, and they still stood in line, though by now the end was in sight. Renjun stretched lazily in waiting. Yoorim watched the passersby outside the line, eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing them.

“Hey!” Yoorim called. “Jeno!”

He was a little ways away, walking amongst the crowd. He looked over at her, a soda in each hand. Curiously, he walked over to the side of the line, standing at the other side of the rope fence. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I have to pee,” she told him, bouncing with her knees pressed together. “I can’t hold it. Could you hold my place in line for a sec? I’m just gonna run to the bathroom, then run right back. Please?”

“Uh. I was just bringing these over — Jaemin wanted me to buy him a drink —”

“I’ll take them,” she said. “Jeno, I’m begging you.” She breathed in and out dramatically, clutching her abdomen as if she was in pain.

“Um… okay, I guess —”

She slipped under the rope, snatched the sodas out of his hands, and raced away to the bathrooms at the other side of the lawn.

The entire exchange had happened so fast, Renjun had barely been able to register it.

“So I’m with you now,” Jeno said awkwardly, getting in line beside him. “Didn’t she just go before we split up?”

“Yeah. I guess she just has a tiny bladder. Maybe it’s a girl thing.” Renjun watched her disappear into the crowd with unease. It felt like she’d run away from him on purpose. Was she getting sick of him? Was he talking too much about himself and Jeno? He didn’t like the thought of her being frustrated with him. Or even worse, her feeling that he was ignoring her or shutting her down. It was their special day, but it seemed like he was ruining it. He rubbed his arm and stared at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asked.

“Of course I am.” Renjun performatively perked back up, giving a big grin. “Have you ever been on the ferris wheel before?”

Jeno tilted his head back, trying to judge how high it went. The sun was behind the tallest seat, making the wheel black in silhouette. “No. I haven’t. It’s pretty big, huh?”

“Yeah. Everyone kinda looks like ants from the top.”

“Oh.” Jeno’s eyes widened. “That’s…” He craned his head to look around again. “Yoorim said she’d be back in a minute, right?”

“I dunno. It’s taking her a while.” Ahead, the line moved. They were nearly at the front of it.

“I might just step out — if she isn’t gonna be back in time —”

Renjun grabbed onto his sleeve. “Jeno! Just ride it with me. It’s no fun alone.” If he couldn’t have Yoorim today, he at least wanted Jeno. Otherwise the entire thing would be a waste. A waste of their final fall fair. He pouted dramatically.

Jeno grimaced, as if he was steeped in a complicated inner turmoil.

The ride operator waved them ahead to board.

Renjun walked up, and Jeno followed him. They both slid into the seat, bar closing over their laps. Jeno, as if he did not trust the safety mechanism entirely, rattled the lap bar then rested his hands on top of it, tapping the chipped paint. Renjun bounced excitedly, rocking the seat on its hinges, making Jeno produce an aggrieved, “don’t do that!” as the wheel began to spin again.

“When we get to the top,” Renjun explained, “we have to people-watch.”

Jeno had twisted in his seat, trying to watch the ground behind them as it moved further and further away. “We have to do what?”

“People-watch! It’s a fall fair tradition for me and Yoorim.” He kicked his feet cheerfully. “Basically, you can see the entire fair from up high. You pick out any person who looks interesting in the crowd — like a guy with a funny hat or a woman with a big purse. And you make up a story about them.”

“You guys do that?”

“Yeah! Ever since we were in middle school.” Renjun leaned forward on the bar, peering over the lawn. The layout of the fairgrounds was clearer from this point-of-view: the game booths along the opening stretch beyond the gate, the rides in the big, open area to the right, the food stalls and tables on the left. It was the same set-up every year. Renjun did his best to memorize it, because next year he wouldn’t be able to, and the year after that, his memory of it might start to fade. He wanted to keep it with him as long as possible, even after he was an adult, too mature to look at something like a local fair with the magic-dusted fondness of a child.

They rose towards the top. The ferris wheel moved slowly, as if being turned on a giant, heavy crank. Renjun was so caught up in the nostalgia, the feeling of weightlessness it provided him, that he didn’t notice Jeno having gone pale beside him, white-knuckled hands clutching the safety bar.

“Renjun,” Jeno said.

“What is it?” He looked at him, and was jolted by the sight. “Oh my god, are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

“I’m — I’m not good with heights,” Jeno croaked.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Renjun tried to gauge how much longer the ride would be. They were barely at the crest, perhaps a third of the way through. “Just don’t look down, okay?”

“There’s not really anywhere else to look.”

Renjun saw Jeno’s fingers shaking against the bar’s chipped paint.

“Look at me,” Renjun said.

Jeno did. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on Renjun’s face, lips parted as he let out a thin breath. It was strange to think that Jeno might be afraid of something. He always seemed so steady, so calm. But Jeno had always been more than Renjun made him out to be. That was why he liked him so much.

Renjun tapped Jeno’s knuckles.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?”

Jeno hesitated, but nodded and turned his hand over.

Renjun hesitated too, having fleeting second thoughts, but placed his hand on Jeno’s. It was surprisingly warm despite the cool autumn air, his skin a little softer than Renjun had expected. Their palms lay flat against each other, and Renjun found the courage to sink his fingers between Jeno’s, linking them together. His heart felt like it was flying even higher than he was, skimming the clouds, turning him red-faced next to Jeno’s still paled complexion.

They sat in silence for a moment. Jeno wasn’t looking at him anymore, and Renjun could not look at Jeno even if he tried. He looked at their hands instead, at the sharp bend of Jeno’s thumb over the side of his hand. Then he looked lower to their feet, where Jeno’s sneakers sat lined up beside his combat boots, crowds maneuvering distantly in the spaces in-between. He had a strange feeling, the kind of happiness that was so strong it turned sad. It was how he’d felt sitting on the floor of the student council room.

“What was that game you mentioned before?” Jeno murmured. “The people-watching thing? It might help to distract me.” He swallowed nervously, still a bit paralyzed with fear, the only moving part of him his fingers, which squeezed Renjun’s hand tighter.

“Oh yeah.” Renjun sat up taller to look over the edge of their seat. “You find a person, and decide what they’re like.” He scanned the people below them. They were very small, but distinctive details still stuck out. Renjun’s eyes locked on a man with a long beard and a denim vest, and he pointed towards him. “What about that guy?”

“Where?”

“By the fried chicken booth. The beardy guy.”

“Oh, I see.”

“First we have to give him a name. Any name you think suits him.”

“You start. So I can get the gist of it.”

Renjun hummed in contemplation. “How about Bruce? He looks like a Bruce, right?”

Jeno snorted, a tiny smile breaking up his nervous expression. “Bruce? Sure.”

“Okay. Next, we have to consider his life. Origins? Occupation? Aspirations?”

“You’re really going in-depth.”

“Of course. He deserves a well-rounded story.” Renjun rubbed his temple as if trying to awaken his third eye, and began to rattle off, “Bruce is fifty-two. He is the leader of the motorcycle gang _Seals on Wheels —_ ”

“ _Seals on Wheels,_ ” Jeno repeated.

“Yes, _Seals on Wheels._ They drive across the country, reuniting baby seals with their long-lost parents and the cool, welcoming arms of the ocean. They gotta put the seals in little slings over their backs while they drive. Like babies.”

“That sounds like a motorcycle gang I want to join.”

“They’re highly exclusive,” Renjun explained. “You need two years of seal-wrangling experience to join.”

Jeno laughed. His fingers pressed tighter between Renjun’s, like they’d become comfortable there. “Who just happens to have seal-wrangling experience?”

“Bruce does. Before his gang, he grew up in a tiny coastal town which trained seals for the circus. You know, how they have the ones that balance balls on their noses.”

“Are you sure you aren’t thinking of sea lions?”

“Irrelevant,” Renjun declared. “Anyhow. He was a circus seal dealer for years, until he saw the error of his ways, and released all the seals from their cages so they could run back into the sea. Now he lives his life in an attempt to make up for his years of seal-napping. He is the Seal Savior.”

“Oh my.” Jeno squinted down towards the crowds again, trying to seek out the man they’d singled out before. He did not seem so afraid of looking down now, like his anxiety had begun to wane. “You got all that just from looking at him?”

“Yup. That’s the magic of people-watching. You can come up with an entire backstory from just a person’s appearance. It’s fun.”

“I think I know more about Bruce now than I know about you.”

Renjun blinked. He didn’t like thinking that Jeno still thought of him as a half-mystery. They were friends. They could be more, if only Renjun was confident enough to ask for it.

“That’s not true,” Renjun said. “You know a lot about me. You know I hate yellow gummy bears. And licorice.”

“That’s just little stuff,” Jeno said, hand-waving it. “It isn’t enough.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Why you joined the student council,” Jeno said quickly, as if he’d already had it in mind.

Renjun shrugged. “I dunno. I guess… I just thought it would be fun. I like doing that kind of stuff.” His gaze ghosted over the crowds again. When they were all so far away like that, they looked more like a single entity than individuals, like a flowing stream of bodies. “I… I think student government is important. Every student at our school has stuff they want or need, so there needs to be someone who advocates for them. They’re all Bruces. You know. They’ve all got stories.”

Renjun realized the irony of it, that he’d spent so long ignoring Jeno’s story. But now his story and Jeno’s story had converged, and he thought of it as irreversible and unignorable.

“I like that,” Jeno said. “I guess I haven’t thought of it that way before.”

Renjun leaned back in the seat, shoulder touching Jeno’s. His hand looked small where Jeno’s enveloped it, his fair stamp half-hidden under Jeno’s index finger, but he didn’t mind it. He wanted the touch to last. He wanted the wheel to keep spinning, the two of them alone at the top, time having stopped to accommodate them.

—

It was a few seconds after stepping off the ferris wheel that Renjun remembered to disengage their hands. It happened awkwardly, their knuckles parting with an exchange of hushed “uh, sorries,” then several seconds of silence as they walked together back into the crowd. Renjun put his hand in his pocket, trying to preserve Jeno’s warmth. _I’m never washing my hand again,_ he promised, as if he’d just been holding hands with a celebrity.

By now, the sun was beginning to sink. More lights had turned on along the main path, making the ground gold beneath them. He and Jeno found Yoorim and Jaemin again at one of the tables near the food stalls, drinking their sodas (Yoorim had apparently claimed Jeno’s drink as her own) and sharing a basket of cinnamon pretzel bites. Renjun watched them for a moment before calling out, wondering what they’d been talking about while he was gone and if Yoorim had ever come back to the ferris wheel line at all or simply beelined for Jaemin’s side. He frowned at the thought of it.

“Hey,” he said.

“There you are,” Yoorim said, as if she’d been waiting a long time. “Sorry, it took me too long. By the time I came out you guys were already on the ride.”

“Sure,” Renjun said stiffly.

“Are we going to get dinner?” Jeno asked.

“Actually, I’m already kind of full,” Jaemin said, rattling their last two pretzel bites in the near-empty paper boat. “You two can eat if you want, though. Me and Yoorim were gonna check out the t-shirt booth.”

“I thought we would all eat together,” Renjun objected. “Or — me and Yoorim would… we always split a fried dough with butter and powdered sugar.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Right?”

“I’m pretty full too,” she said.

Renjun blew out an annoyed sigh before he could think to stop himself. This was the third time today she’d blown him off. First the funhouse, then the ferris wheel, now dinner. He was starting to feel like he wasn’t wanted.

“Yoorim,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She stood, with an innocent expression. “Sure, I guess. What is it?”

He led her away from the tables to the space behind the fried chicken tent. It smelled like fryer oil and breading back there, and the cloth ends of the tent stirred in the wind by their feet.

“I’m kind of peeved,” he admitted to her, “that I’ve barely hung out with you all day. It’s our final fall fair. I thought we’d do all the stuff we do every year. It’s our tradition.”

She blinked, as though this hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal to you.”

“Of course it is.” He crossed his arms. It was beginning to get properly cold out, their good weather decaying. “I’m just — it just frustrates me that you seem to want to spend your time with Jaemin instead of me. Is he that important to you?”

She gave a short, haughty laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on.” At last, what he’d been thinking all afternoon broke the surface. “All day, you two have been whispering and making eyes at each other and… it’s obvious you’re into him. I didn’t think you’d pick some guy over me.”

Yoorim was so stunned she didn’t speak for a full five seconds. Her mouth hung open, she closed it, then she opened it again and shook her head. “You are completely insane,” she finally said. “I’m not _into_ Jaemin. Why do you assume that I want to jump the bones of every guy I talk to? You said the same thing about me and Jeno at the car wash.”

“I —” Renjun hadn’t realized it before, but it was true. He’d made an assumption without even talking to her first. But admitting fault was not one of Renjun’s specialties. He was much better at digging himself deeper to try and protect his pride.

“I don’t know why else you’d choose him over me,” he said, voice shaking. “But I guess it doesn’t matter. You can have him to yourself the rest of tonight. I’ll go enjoy the fair by myself.”

“Renjun.”

“It’s fine.” He marched away from the food stalls, towards the game booths on the other side of the fairgrounds. She didn’t call after him again.

—

There was no better way to take out his anger than the shooting booth. He raised the toy gun to his eye, leaning on the edge of the stall window. Though he’d sucked with a bow and arrow at summer camp, the fair gun was different. He’d mastered it over the years, finding the perfect position propped on the wood wall so that the bullets always hit right along the row of targets. He had to knock down five of those little cardboard targets to get a prize. He didn’t even break a sweat, bowling them over like dominoes.

 _Bam!_ His first tiny bullet hit the target on the far left. He imagined it as Yoorim’s little smile when she whispered in Jaemin’s ear. He was tired of all the romantic drama. Couldn’t it have just been him and Yoorim, until the end of high school?

 _Bam!_ The second target was Jeno. Not because Renjun hated Jeno, but because he was sick of stealing glances and wishing for them in return. Why couldn’t there be an easy way to figure out another person’s feelings? Right then, he might have given up his crush forever, if it meant he and Yoorim could be on good terms again. It was no good for him to shame her for talking to another boy; it was more than he could do himself.

 _Bam!_ Third was Jaemin. He had no good reason for this one other than the fact that Yoorim had spent more time with Jaemin that day than him. Stupid Jaemin, with his stupid charming smile. Renjun wanted to flick him between the eyebrows.

 _Bam!_ Number four, the fall fair. Why did it have to be over? Couldn’t the useless fair runners scrape together enough cash to make it last even just one more year? Why did they have to take away something he loved so much? Sometimes, he felt like the universe was posed specifically against him. It was taking the fair away, and then it would take away West Gardens too when he graduated.

 _Bam!_ The last one was him. He knew he made most of his problems on his own. He knew targets one through four were symptoms of his own dysfunction. He wished he had the courage of an actual gunslinging cowboy. But all he had now was a toy gun.

The lights went off, announcing his victory. The booth worker took the gun back, and asked, “Which prize do you want? You can pick anything on the top row.”

Renjun scanned them. His gaze landed on a blue teddy bear with a bow around its neck.

“That one,” he said.

The booth worker handed it over. Renjun looked down at the teddy bear, prodding one of its shiny black button eyes. The rule was that every bear Renjun won belonged to Yoorim. It was fall fair tradition. It would make him a hypocrite to abandon tradition now.

He thought of the shelf in Yoorim’s room, right above her bed, all her teddy bears on proud display.

He left the booth and wandered back under the gold lights and late evening sky.

—

Yoorim was at the ring toss. The prizes here were little goldfish in baggies. Their first fall fair together, he and Yoorim had each won a fish and decided they would live together in a communal fishbowl at Yoorim’s house. Their names were Taco and Burrito, and they were best friend fish. Taco was goofy and liked to swim into the sides of their bowl. Burrito was a sassy fish who liked to hover near the top of the water and steal all the food before Taco could have any. Renjun and Yoorim had not realized that fair goldfish were puny and not meant to live long; both fish died within a month of the fair. Renjun had cried at the fish funeral, where Yoorim had scooped their bodies into an old card deck box and buried it in the backyard beneath the willow tree. She hadn’t cried at all, and at first Renjun thought it was because she was cruel and unfeeling, but she’d given the card box one last gentle pat after she’d lowered it into the hole, and realized she was holding back tears because she knew that if she started crying, he would only cry harder.

“Hey,” Renjun said.

She looked up, the end of her braid hanging over the bowls of fish.

“This is for you.” He held out the teddy bear. “And I’m sorry for getting mad at you.”

“It’s fine,” she said.

“No. I just jumped to conclusions because… the thought of you having a boyfriend makes me nervous. Because I feel like you’d spend all your time with him instead of me.” He looked down at the ground in shame. “And I know that’s so silly coming from me, when there’s this whole thing with Jeno…”

“I am sincerely not interested in Jaemin,” she clarified. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”

“But you two —”

“Listen. The reason I’ve been talking to him all day is because I was trying to get him to help me.” She leaned against the side of the booth, half-smiling. “Didn’t you notice? I kept leaving you alone _with Jeno._ I want you two to get together. So I thought I’d turn our final fall fair into you guys’s first date. As my special gift to you.”

Renjun took a revelatory breath. _Me and Jeno’s first date._ He supposed it didn’t count properly since neither of them knew about it, but in retrospect, it had many of a first date’s most crucial aspects — sharing sweets, laughing at each other’s jokes, holding hands. “You — you did?”

“Obviously. You didn’t notice?”

“No…”

“Well, now you know. And I was trying to keep Jaemin with me all day so that you two could have your alone time. Does that clear things up?”

Renjun realized suddenly something he had already known, which was that Yoorim was the best best friend he could ever ask for.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Good. So we’ll call it even.”

“Alright.” He held out the bear again. “Take your apology bear.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Yoorim!” he groaned. “After we just went through this whole thing!”

She glanced pointedly to the side. “I think you ought to give it to someone else.”

Renjun followed her line of sight. Jeno was at the basketball toss by himself, lazily making baskets.

He nodded, and walked away towards him.

“Jeno,” he said.

“Hey.” Jeno set the basketball down in the rut, grinning. “Where did you go? I tried to text you.”

“Oh. I —” Renjun fidgeted nervously with the ears of the bear, before finally working up the courage to hold it out to him. “Here. I won this for you.”

Jeno’s grin fell away in surprise. He looked curiously at the bear, then again at Renjun, like he was uncertain if Renjun really meant it. Finally, delicately, he took it, grip soft the same way it had been when he’d held Renjun’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said. He smiled, and it was brighter than the fair lights.

Renjun could not help but smile back, so happy he was overwhelmed. He didn’t want the night to end, though he had by now accepted that it had to.

“Name?” Renjun said, prodding the bear’s tummy.

“Gilbert T. Bear.”

“Origins? Occupations? Aspirations?”

Jeno laughed softly. “He’s a teddy bear doctor. He studied at the best school in the nation, Bearington U. He puts on a little white coat and latex gloves and cuts the other teddy bears open, but very nicely and helpfully. Once they’re in recovery they receive a special honey lollipop that allows them to recover at two-time speed.”

“What’s his area of expertise?”

“Loose-stuffing-itis.”

Renjun laughed too, and decided this was not a bad finale to that chapter of his life.

“Show me how to throw a basketball again,” he said, scooting to the front of the booth and taking the ball from the divot.

When Jeno placed his hands over Renjun’s, moving them to where they ought to be, Renjun was not as flustered as he’d expected to be; Jeno’s touch was becoming natural, welcome, and precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter wasn't especially funny but i hope u liked the Drama and the Hand-Holding
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	11. Christmas

November slipped into December, and Renjun could not quite believe the first half of the school year was nearly over. They got their first snow on December 3rd, when their AP French teacher allowed them to all take the last ten minutes of class off and run around on the school lawn, catching snowflakes in their mouths. Jeno had tipped his head back and Renjun had been admiring his very pretty profile when Jeno had suddenly spluttered, covering his face in the crook of his sleeve.

Renjun had giggled. “What happened?”

“Snowflake flew up my nose,” Jeno had croaked.

“Did it tickle your brain?”

“Did it _what_?”

“Tickle your brain!” Renjun had pointed his index and middle fingers at his nostrils. “You know. Fly right up there and ding off your frontal lobe.”

“I don’t think so,” Jeno had responded wryly.

“Prolly isn’t any brain up there for it to tickle,” Renjun had teased, “ _Number Two._ ”

Jeno had picked him up around the middle and carried him over to Yoorim, like a parent placing a child in time-out. “This is your responsibility now,” he’d said. “He’s too sassy today.” Renjun had yipped contemptuously in his arms.

“Do you accept returns?” Yoorim had asked, not looking up from her phone.

The snow had since melted away, not quite ready to kick full tilt into winter. But winter break had crept up without Renjun noticing, and when he walked into school on December 18th, the last day before break began, he was taken by surprise by the Christmas decorations all over the lobby: gold tinsel streamers, paper snowflakes taped to the walls, a wreath on the main office door.

“They really went all out,” Yoorim observed. “What about you? Did you come prepared?”

He might not have, if he hadn’t had the foresight a week ago to start his Christmas crafting early. He let his backpack hang off one shoulder and unzipped it, digging around the bottom of the bag.

“Here,” he said, handing her a headband with glittery paper reindeer antlers and tiny gold bells.

“Not the glitter again,” she groaned. “It took me ages to get it all off after Halloween. Had to wash my yellow turtleneck eight times.”

“Too bad. We’re Santa’s helpers. We have to look cute.”

 _Santa’s helpers_ were the student council members, from freshman to senior year. During the morning, each year would switch off from operating the candy cane exchange desk, situated in front of the cafeteria. Students could buy a candy cane for a dollar, attach a note if they choose, and send it to a classmate. Then, throughout the day, the student council would deliver them around the school, and the profits would go into the student council’s field trip fund. It was a popular fundraiser, with at least a hundred note-bearing candy canes being circulated through the West Garden hallways every early-Christmas.

The seniors had desk duty first thing that morning. Renjun and Yoorim found Jeno already there, scooching his chair forward and arranging the blank cards and candy canes on the table. “Hey,” he said, smiling as he looked up to see them in their headbands. “Oh, is that our uniform for today?”

“Sure is.” Renjun handed a third headband to Jeno. “Chenle said the sophomores are dressing as elves, so I thought we’d be reindeer. Personally, I think we got the cuter option. Those fake little pointy ears are so cheesy.”

Jeno put his headband on. As Renjun sat down, he could feel Jeno eyeing him.

“Do _not_ flick my antlers,” Renjun warned him.

“How’d you read my mind like that?”

“Lucky guess,” Renjun spoke out of the corner of his mouth. _And he better not try to wipe any glitter off my cheek,_ he thought, _because I might have a heart attack._

It had been nearly a month since the fair. Renjun sometimes rubbed his fingers across his left palm, remembering what it had felt like to have Jeno’s hand there, and the heat it left behind. Since then, things had stagnated. They still talked like they always did, but their hands had not overlapped again, and Jeno had seemed to become more distant than usual. Renjun wondered if things had gotten rough again at home, though he worried it might be in bad taste to ask about it. He breached the subject anyhow, quietly whispering to Jeno, “So. How are things lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“At home, I guess. Or —” Renjun fiddled uselessly with the card-signing Sharpie. “Are you happy? In general.”

He often thought about what Jaemin had told him at the protest. It worried him to know that Jeno had not been happy the past three-and-a-half years. Renjun’s own high school experience had been wonderful, despite the occasional hiccup. He never wanted it to end. But maybe Jeno was simply waiting for the whole thing to be over. Maybe he was tired of high school, worn down by it, ready to leave it — and Renjun — behind.

Jeno laughed softly. “That’s a funny question.”

Renjun uncapped the Sharpie, capped it again, looking at it instead of Jeno.

“Hey,” Jeno said. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course I’m happy,” Jeno assured him. He nudged the side of Renjun’s hand. “And today’s gonna be a lot of fun.”

Renjun looked at their hands. The touch was a shot of espresso, caffeine coursing through Renjun’s veins. It made his heart race and his hair stand on end. It was addicting.

“Okay,” he said, because he was happy too. It was impossible not to be when they were so close together, and so close to something more.

Jeno took a candy cane from the table and hung it off one of Renjun’s antlers.

—

In AP Lit, they were reading _The Grapes of Wrath_. Renjun was a very avid reader, and unlike many of the kids in his class, he always did every word of their assigned reading. Today, they were on chapter sixteen, but Renjun had already read the entire book on his own time. He was a big Steinbeck fan, though his favorite classics writer was Austen. He liked to collect the prettiest editions of _Pride and Prejudice,_ which had a special shelf on his bookcase. His mother had once tried to convince him to part with some of them for a garage sale (“Why does anyone need eleven copies of one book?”) and he’d threatened to bite her hand off if she laid even a finger on the spine of his fancy leather-bound edition with the little gold flowers. He and Yoorim had also seen the movie with Keira Knightley approximately a hundred times, to the point that they could speak the lines perfectly alongside Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. It was one of their favorite Buddy Movies.

AP Lit was one of the few classes Renjun did not have with Jeno, as Jeno was in the other section; this was in theory a good thing, because it meant that Renjun could not spend all class staring at Jeno across the room and wondering how handsome he would look in a Georgian era ruffle-neck shirt and a long coat. However, in practice, this often just made Renjun fantasize harder, wishing he and Jeno had class together, wishing they were seated right next to each other, so that Renun could do something undeniably attractive like cleverly explain the metaphor of the turtle crossing the road, and Jeno would be so impressed by his feat of intelligence that he would fall for him right on the spot. Or maybe Renjun could write a very romantic poem and read it in front of the class, except he would really be reading it to Jeno, and Jeno would know this and swoon so hard he would have a fainting spell like a sickly Victorian lady.

Renjun was so caught up in this particular fantasy that he was snapped out of with a shock as the classroom door swung open. It was the freshman student council members, all dressed in Santa’s onesie-patterned tees, shuffling shyly in, as if they were not quite used to being allowed in the upper-year classes. “Hello,” one of them said, a girl with holly-accented pigtails. “We have a candy cane delivery.”

The AP Lit teacher dropped his Expo marker in the whiteboard tray. “Alright, alright. Make it speedy.”

The freshmen skittered about the room, each carrying handfuls of candy canes. Renjun did not expect to receive any, as he hadn’t any of the past three years. He and Yoorim had their own gift exchanges during break, so there wasn’t really any point in candy cane sending. He ignored the freshman as they flitted from desk to desk, instead trying to catch up on copying down the notes on the board that he’d missed as he’d been daydreaming.

Then, he heard his name.

“Huang Renjun,” one of the freshmen read, looking down at a candy cane card.

He blinked in surprise, then raised his hand. “Oh. Over here.”

She placed the candy cane on the corner of his desk. He picked it up, examining it closely as if it was some kind of trick or illusion.

“Did you send this?” he asked Yoorim beside him.

She shook her head. “We never do candy canes. I didn’t think you’d want one.”

So it wasn’t her. Renjun wasn’t sure who else it could be. Unless...

Yoorim leaned in over his shoulder, eyes wide. “What’s the note say?” she asked.

He double-checked the outside of the card. There was his name, plain as day, written very neatly in all caps. It certainly wasn’t sent his way by mistake. He shrugged and opened it.

Inside, only one line was written.

_I have a crush on you._

Renjun nearly dropped the candy cane on his desk, like his suddenly booming heartbeat would quake it from his grip.

—

As they walked to P.E. after, Renjun was still thinking about the candy cane. It sat in his backpack, tucked away in the front pocket like a secret.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, hand curled against his mouth in contemplation. “Who do you think sent it, Yoorim?”

“There was no name?”

“No. I kept flipping it over looking for one, but…”

She grinned devilishly. “It looks like you have a secret admirer.”

He waved the idea way, too shy to believe it. “It was probably a prank,” he decided. “To embarrass me or something.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Yoorim reasoned. “If it was a prank, wouldn’t they _want_ to put a name on it? Like, a random classmate’s name? That way, you might ask them about it and be embarrassed when they say no.”

“I — I don’t know,” he said. He supposed the prank idea didn’t really add up. Perhaps it _could_ be a distant admirer he didn’t know well, in which case he figured he might never find out the answer. He watched his sneakers as they plodded nervously along the hallway tiles, shoelaces bouncing like rabbit ears. “I don’t know what else it could be.”

“It could be Jeno,” Yoorim suggested.

“No way.”

“Oh, come on. Maybe he really does like you back.” She gave his arm a shake, trying to force some sense into him. “This could be his way of admitting it. He might be too shy to do it otherwise.”

The idea of it being Jeno’s note thrilled him and scared him at the same time. He really, really wanted it to be Jeno. Wouldn’t it make things so much easier if Jeno was the one to confess first? No more waiting for signs. Renjun could simply tell him _I like you too_ and they could start dating right there and then, kissing on the school’s front steps.

But even then, Renjun was not sure he was ready. Longing had become normal to him. Whatever lay beyond it was unchartered territory.

Yoorim noticed his low spirits, and said, more softly, “You could always just ask him, Renjun. Jeno’s nice. If it wasn’t his note, then that’s that.”

Renjun stopped walking, a few paces outside the gym. He placed his hands on his hips, regaining his composure, and said, “I have an idea.”

“You’re going to ask him?”

“Of course not,” he laughed, as if she’d said something stupid. “I’ll just ask every other person I know if they sent it. If no one fesses up, _then_ I’ll ask Jeno as a last resort.”

“You have to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“This way, I’ll be completely sure.”

“Whatever you say. I still think it’s silly. But if it gets to the bottom of things, then I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Thank you.” Renjun waved goodbye to her as she walked to the girls’ locker room. He went to walk towards the boys’, but detoured near the gym doors, peering into them. Jeno had already changed and was warming up with Jaemin, hitting the birdie back and forth over the badminton net. Though Renjun had just been imagining him as an old-timey gentleman earlier, he thought this was the way he liked him best — plain white tee, gym shorts, torn-up tennis sneakers. He lingered for a minute at the door, wondering still, _hoping_ still, before turning into the locker room.

—

Renjun had plans with Chenle during study hall. They were meeting in the library so Renjun could help Chenle with his science fair project. Usually Renjun entered the science fair himself, but he was extra busy this year, so he’d decided instead to devote his small amount of free time to helping Chenle develop his idea. Chenle had informed Renjun over the summer that he wanted to go to college to study aerospace engineering; and if Renjun was going to call Chenle his disciple, that meant Renjun had to support him on his journey. Nothing would look better on a college application to a program like that one than first prize at the science fair.

When he got there, Chenle had already claimed a table and was taking down some notes from a textbook. “What are you doing?” Renjun asked, settling in the chair beside him and peering over his shoulder. “Did you decide your idea already?”

“I wanna do something with rocketry,” he murmured. He tapped the eraser of his pencil on his paper where he was drawing a diagram. “Maybe build a model? Design a rocket? Something like that.”

“That’s a cool idea.” Renjun’s face lit up. “Oh! When I won a prize sophomore year, it was for an aeronautics model. I don’t know if that kind of thing will help you, but maybe I can show you my project and it’ll give you some ideas. I still have it in my closet at home.”

“Really?” Chenle grinned. “Thanks, boss!”

Renjun pursed his eyes and narrowed his lips. He was now in Detective Mode, sometimes known as The Mode of Over-Analyzing Every Innocuous Thing. _Boss._ Was that a term of endearment? Was the way Chenle followed him around and tried to impress him out of mere admiration, or something more? What if Chenle had been carrying a torch for him this whole time? Renjun went red at the thought.

“Chenle,” he said carefully. “Do you… have a crush on me?”

Chenle froze completely for a half-second, then threw his head back and laughed so hard Renjun thought it couldn’t possibly be at him. “Oh my god,” Chenle managed to eke out between _haha_ s, “Oh my god, boss. I can’t believe —”

“I’m not joking. I was asking seriously.”

Chenle only laughed harder. He wiped a tear from his eye, having progressed into full-on hysterics, and slipped out of his chair, beating a bemused fist against the library carpet.

There was the sudden thump of a heavy book against the end of the table. Mr. Choi stared at the two of them with cocked-brow glare, and said, “I’m going to have to ask you to turn the volume down, Mr. Zhong.”

“Sorry,” Chenle gasped, hauling himself back into his seat. “Renjun just said the funniest thing.”

“He’d better stop being funny before I kick you both out of my library.”

Renjun was flushed with embarrassment. Being laughed at by his underling was one thing, but being in trouble with any school faculty was a recurring event in his nightmares. “We’ll be quiet,” he said, grabbing Chenle’s arm firmly as a threat. “Sorry.”

Mr. Choi walked back to his desk, but kept his chair angled in their direction, on the watch out for any more funny business.

“Nice job, dummy,” Renjun hissed. “No way I’m showing you my science fair project now.”

“No!” Chenle wailed indignantly. “But you said!”

Renjun clamped a hand over Chenle’s mouth before they got another scolding. “You publicly scoffed at me. Consider your position as my protege revoked.”

“Please,” Chenle begged, taking the hand from over his mouth and gripping it pleadingly between both of his own. “Boss, please, I’ll do anything. If you really _want_ me to have a crush on you, I can try to make that happen. Maybe if you did something different with your hair —”

“No,” Renjun sighed. “I don’t _want_ it. I’m just doing some detective work. I need to find out who has a crush on me.”

“Someone has a crush on you?”

“I have a secret admirer,” Renjun mumbled. He didn’t really want to spill all the details. Chenle was trustworthy, but tended to take things a little too far.

“Oh. Well, I swear it isn’t me, boss. You’re… _boss_. I can’t crush on the boss. You’re like a teacher. Or a coach. Or my dad.”

“I am not like your dad.”

“You have the same air of authority.” Chenle leaned in and sniffed Renjun’s shirt. “And I think you and him use the same deodorant.”

“Alright. This has become sufficiently weird.” Renjun stood and put his backpack back on. “Thanks, Chenle. I don’t know really what I’m thanking you for, but. Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.” He gave him an awkward and appropriately dad-like pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks, boss!”

Renjun crossed a name off his list, gave himself a mental pat on the back for his excellent detective work, and waved an apologetic goodbye to Mr. Choi as he walked out the door.

—

Art class was after study hall. Renjun had his next target in sight as he leaned back in his chair at the paint-stained wooden table. Donghyuck was sitting on the opposite side of the room and shoving an oil pastel up each nostril, which his friends guffawed at.

He’d spent a while considering the best approach. Each person needed one tailored to their personality. If Donghyuck had a crush on Renjun, there would be no way he’d outright admit it, even if Renjun asked him. Not that Renjun really believed someone like Donghyuck could have sincere feelings for another human being. But in the hypothetical scenario that he _did,_ he would need to be coaxed into acknowledging them. Like a skittish baby deer, lured with a handful of corn kernels.

Renjun needed to be subtle. He needed to be subliminal.

“We’ll be splitting into pairs today,” the art teacher announced, “and doing colored pencil portraits. Since it’s the last day before break, I wanted to do something quick and fun. So choose any partner you like, and feel free to chit chat as you draw.”

Renjun picked his easel up by its bottom bar and hauled it across the room as fast as he could manage, slamming it down in front of Donghyuck’s chair.

“Can I help you?” Donghyuck asked.

“We are partners,” Renjun declared.

“Why?”

“It’s… a team-building exercise. For the student council.”

Donghyuck looked at his friend beside him who’d he’d been about to pair up with. His friend only shrugged.

“Alright,” Donghyuck said, voice low with suspicion.

They received their thick, coarsely-textured paper from the teacher and propped them on their easels. Renjun plucked up his #2 pencil and began to sketch, coyly peeking around the edge of his canvas. “How’s my portrait looking so far?” he asked, roughing out the vague shape of Donghyuck’s face.

“I mean, I just started it,” Donghyuck said. “Looks like a blob.”

“Oh.” Renjun casually rested his elbow on the table and rubbed his bottom lip with index finger. “What do you think is my best feature? You know. From an artistic perspective.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Aesthetically.”

“I dunno. Don’t think I’ve ever paid attention to that.” He looked up and noticed Renjun watching him. “Are you gonna draw me or not?”

 _Shit,_ Renjun thought. _Subtlety. Subtlety._ He went back to drawing, mind racing, waiting for another opportunity to present itself.

They worked on their portraits in silence for a few minutes. Donghyuck popped bubbles in the gum he was chewing, making sure their teacher was on the other side of the room before daring to do so. Renjun grabbed a peach pencil and began to add the first bit of color to Donghyuck’s face, pretending to look at his canvas thoughtfully. “You know,” he said as he scribbled, “you’ve got kind of a nice bone structure. Anyone ever told you that before?”

Donghyuck’s upper lip raised, as if he was somehow disturbed by this. “No.”

“Oh. Well. It was just an observation.” Renjun chewed the end of his pencil. “You have a good sense of humor, too,” he lied, though it pained him to do so. “Do you know any funny jokes?”

“What do I look like, a clown?”

As if _this_ was a joke, and the peak of comedy at that, Renjun giggled his most charming and noisy giggle and pawed Donghyuck playfully on the arm.

Donghyuck scooted his chair and easel back a few inches.

“So what are you doing this weekend?” Renjun went on. “Anything fun?”

“I dunno. I have some stuff in my backyard I wanted to burn. Cardboard boxes and shit. Maybe light some fireworks. The really loud kind.” Donghyuck smacked his gum. “Oh, also, the kid who lives next-door to me wanted to go ride our bikes down the street. There’s this old lady who gets mad at us when we ride too close to her house. So we like to circle right outside her lawn and blast music and throw rocks at her garden gnomes.”

Renjun had not realized before the extent or complexity of the unsettling nature of Donghyuck’s private life. He was practically the anti-Renjun. Renjun smiled anyway and said through his teeth, “That sounds fun. Maybe I could join you.”

“Join me?”

“I think it would be nice if we hung out more outside of school. You know. Got a little closer.” Renjun reached across the almost-too-far space between them and managed to brush his fingertips on Donghyuck’s knee.

Donghyuck watched the gesture with utter bewilderment. “I think we’re close enough as is.”

“It’s kind of hot in here, isn’t it?” Renjun said. “Hold on a sec, I’m gonna take off my sweatshirt.”

It took Renjun an awkwardly long amount of time to peel his sweatshirt off over his head, getting it stuck around his ears and leaving his hair mussed. He dropped it on the table and flattened the tee he’d been wearing underneath. It was not the most alluring outfit, but it would have to do.

Donghyuck huffed and dropped his pencil in his easel tray, like he wanted Renjun to notice his annoyance, and said, “Could you sit still for a minute? I’ve barely been able to draw anything ‘cause you keep moving around.”

“Of course,” Renjun said. “Do you want me to pose?”

“Don’t really care.”

Renjun moved his easel out of the way so he could shuffle his chair closer to Donghyuck. Then he adjusted his t-shirt again, this time so that a bit of his collarbone and shoulder showed through the neck hole, and draped himself luxuriously over the back of his seat, legs languidly drawn out, toe of his Converse brushing Donghyuck’s ankle.

“How’s this?” he asked silkily.

“What the fuck is going on?” Donghyuck asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Renjun said, batting his lashes.

“You are giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

Renjun broke abruptly out of his act and smacked an annoyed fist on the table. “Crap,” he hissed. “Another dead end.”

“Am I missing something?”

“I was trying to see if you were into me.”

“I’m not,” Donghyuck said, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“You didn’t send me a candy cane?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure? Not as a prank? Or by accident?”

“How would I accidentally send someone a candy cane?”

Renjun tapped his pencil on his chin, processing the information. “Interesting. Very interesting.” Another name scribbled out. Two more to go. Three, if he counted Jeno, which gave him a nervous little shiver.

“Are we gonna finish these portraits or not?” Donghyuck smacked his paper impatiently with his pencil. “Art class is my only solid B.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Renjun murmured. He pulled his sweatshirt back on first. It was freezing in there.

—

The student council reconvened at the beginning of fifth period. Renjun should have been in AP Bio, but their special Christmas-time duties permitted them a late arrival; for the first fifteen minutes of class, they would instead be on candy cane delivering duty. Frankly, Renjun was no longer in the Christmas spirit, and those candy canes were beginning to fill him with dread. What if he somehow got another one with a confession written inside the card? What if this was some kind of conspiracy meant to send him into a spiral? What if this was a plot meant to destroy him and the West Gardens student government completely? Renjun was a politician. It was only natural that someone might be trying to take him out. And romantic turmoil was the most effective way to do it, in Renjun’s case.

He walked down the hall now, counting out candy canes and organizing them by classroom. Yoorim walked beside him, putting back on her festive headband and whispering, “So, did you find anything out?”

“No,” he hissed back. “Chenle’s in the clear, and Donghyuck too.” He glanced behind him to where Donghyuck trailed along, talking to Jeno about the last basketball game. “I’ve still got a few people left to investigate. That’ll be my goal this afternoon.”

“Or,” Yoorim replied, “you could ask Jeno right now, while you’ve got some time together.”

“I’d rather die.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved open the door to the chemistry room.

Renjun switched on his class president demeanor and smiled brightly as he announced to the room of juniors, “Merry Christmas! We have a candy cane delivery!”

The juniors murmured excitedly to one another. Candy cane were beloved by all, except the teachers, who always watched with crossed arms from the front of their room as their class was interrupted.

Renjun began calling out the names on his cards, passing them around the rows of desks until they reached their destination. There were a lot for this room, so all four of them maneuvered between the rows, distributing their handfuls (though Donghyuck had taken off his reindeer antlers much to Renjun’s dismay, passing the candy canes out with minimal enthusiasm.)

“Kim Minjeong,” Renjun read from his pile.

“Over here.”

He brought the candy cane to her desk, then turned the other way. Still, he overheard the girl’s friend ask beside her, “Who’s it from, Minjeong?”

“My boyfriend. He sends me one every year. It’s how he asked me out freshman year, so it’s our little tradition.”

Renjun glanced at Jeno across the room.

He hadn’t really considered what he would do if someone other than Jeno had sent it. Laugh it off? Let them down gently? Somehow, inexplicably, say yes? He and Jeno were at a standstill. Maybe this entire Jeno thing had been a diversion, and Renjun’s real true love had penned that card. Who was he to say no to a confession? He’d never received one before. This may be the only one he’d ever get.

He was beginning to feel miserable again. He hated to think that his feelings for Jeno might be only temporary. Renjun thought “temporary” was the scariest word in the English language.

When all the candy canes were handed out, he escaped back into the hall, head down, walking briskly to their next stop.

“Hey,” Yoorim said, catching up with him. “What’s the rush?”

“I think better when I power walk,” he muttered.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My next suspects. I need to smoke out whoever sent that card, _fast_. Or I might lose my mind.”

Just then, Jeno came up at his other side. “Hey Renjun,” he said, oblivious. “For the candy canes, should we —”

“Not now,” Renjun muttered. “Sorry, Jeno. My mind is racing. Come back later.”

“Oh.” Jeno’s face fell. He slowed to walk a few paces behind.

Renjun couldn’t help it. He had no time for distractions, and he didn’t have the heart to meet Jeno’s eye. The whole situation had spun him upside down.

“I think you’ve already lost your mind,” Yoorim observed, straightening her antlers.

—

At lunch, Renjun went to sit at his and Yoorim’s usual spot, but stopped at the end of the table.

“What are you doing?” she asked, munching on a baby carrot.

“Yangyang,” Renjun said vaguely.

“I’m Yoorim, remember? Your best friend?”

“No. I mean, he’s over there.” He pointed across the room. Yangyang was at his circular table. As usual, he sat alone, the table too covered by his notes and laptop for anyone else to make room. “You don’t think he…”

“Sent the candy cane?” Yoorim snorted. “The only time you’ve ever talked to him is to argue. I sincerely doubt he’s got a thing for you.”

“Maybe he finds my arguing endearing.”

“That makes one of us.”

Renjun ignored her and drifted away, slipping between the incoming students with their cafeteria trays. When he got to Yangyang’s table, he rapped a knuckle on the edge of it to get his attention, as Yangyang was too absorbed in whatever article he was typing to notice him there.

“Hi,” Renjun said. “Can I sit with you?”

Yangyang grinned his sharp-toothed grin. He looked like a wolverine. “If you want.”

Renjun stacked some of Yangyang’s things to clear a spot and sat down. He opened his lunchbox and began to pick at his nutella-strawberry jam sandwich. “So,” he said. “Heard any interesting rumors lately?”

“I publish all my interesting rumors in the West Gardens Chronicle.” Yangyang lifted a book and pulled a copy of the paper out from underneath. “Haven’t you read this week’s articles?”

“No.”

Yangyang, seeming deeply offended by this, shoved the paper into Renjun’s hands and said, “Take a look then.”

Renjun glanced over the frontpage. _Bird Skeleton in Biology Room Actually Rare Dinosaur Stolen from National Museum,_ it read, with a photo of said skeleton and a stock image of a disgruntled-looking archaeologist peering through his magnifying glass. Renjun briefly fluttered through the rest of the pages and found nothing of interest. “It’s, uh. Not exactly what I’m looking for.”

“What do you mean?” Yangyang licked the inside of his blueberry yogurt lid. “It’s great material.”

Renjun swallowed and whispered, as if making a deal with a trench coat-wearing man in a dark alley, “I’m looking for… _romantic_ rumors.”

“Oh.” Yangyang’s eyes rounded with playful surprise. “Well. I’m afraid to report I don’t have much to offer. I routinely kick in the doors of the supply closet in the gym, but I’ve yet to find anyone making out inside.”

“That seems like a questionable method.”

“Did _you_ have a rumor you wanted to share with _me_?” Yangyang countered gleefully.

“No — I —” Renjun sighed and spread his hands exasperatedly over the table, accidentally nudging the lens of Yangyang’s camera. “Listen. Maybe I’ve got something. But I don’t want you running it in your stupid paper.”

“Then I’m not interested.”

Renjun grabbed Yangyang by the sleeve. “No. Alright. I’ll tell you. But if you print it, it needs to be anonymous, okay?” He glared hard, hoping it would suffice as a threat. “I’m doing you a favor by giving you a story. So just leave my name off it, okay?”

Yangyang considered it for a moment. “Fine. No name. ‘An anonymous senior boy’ — is that good enough?”

“‘Anonymous senior _person_.’ No, scratch ‘senior’ too. Just ‘anonymous person.’”

“Alright, alright. Now give me the deets already.”

Renjun took a breath. “So this morning I got a candy cane in the exchange. It didn’t have the sender’s name on it, but the card said it was someone who had a crush on me.”

“Ooh.” Yangyang typed away frantically, tongue between his teeth. “Juicy. Dramatic. Compelling.”

“You don’t happen to know anyone who might have sent that to me, do you?” Renjun asked.

Yangyang shrugged. “Nah. You’re not really popular in that way.”

“Gee, thanks,” Renjun said flatly. “How do you even know that?”

“I compiled a ranking.” Yangyang pulled up a spreadsheet. “ _The West Gardens Male Students Desirability Index._ ”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Every time I hear whispers of crushes or observe longing stares towards a person, they get bumped up a spot. I even handed out a short survey earlier this semester. For research.”

Renjun had to admit he was curious, not only about the ranking but about Yangyang’s methods, which, like Donghyuck’s social life, seemed to be a bottomless mystery. “Does this really help you with your articles?”

“Of course. Knowing a person’s reputation is important when you write about them. Helps you choose your angle.” He turned his laptop towards Renjun. “Did you want to know your ranking? It’s pretty dire.”

“No thanks.” Renjun decided it was probably not good for his self-perception to know such a thing. But he did lean over Yangyang’s shoulder and say, “But, um. What about Jeno? Where does he rank?” He pretended to seem only partially interested, like it was a throwaway question, by nonchalantly sipping his juicebox.

Yangyang scrolled up the sheet. “Number three.”

“Number three?” Renjun spluttered.

“Yeah. He’s really popular with the senior girls. The underclassmen like him, too.”

“Ah…” Renjun stared soullessly down at the table. There were around five hundred boys who attended West Gardens. Number three was high. Number three seemed unattainable.

“I’m thirty-first, for the record,” Yangyang said. “Not too shabby, I think.”

“Whatever.” Renjun suspected that Yangyang had manipulated that number. The ranking was a sham. He refused to accept it. “Anyhow. I’m going back to my regular table. You better keep that article you’re writing anonymous or I’ll put your camera in the art room kiln.”

“Noted.”

Renjun stood and stepped away from the table. Before departing completely, he turned back around and asked, as an afterthought, “By the way. It wasn’t _you_ who sent me that note, was it?”

“Not in a million years,” Yangyang answered.

_What an asshole. Maybe thirty-first from the bottom. Thirty-first on the ranking of West Garden’s Most Weasel-y, Shit-Stirring Creeps._

“Likewise,” Renjun said coolly. He tilted up his chin to display his pride (or maybe to convince himself he still had any), and went back to where Yoorim was watching the exchange with amusement.

—

Jisung played the tuba. Renjun was personally biased against the tuba as he found it inelegant and unsophisticated (particularly in comparison with his piccolo), but he would not ever say this to Jisung’s face. Jisung was still young, his dreams untarnished by the harsh truths of the real world. Renjun sat in the empty folding chair beside him at the beginning of concert band as he twisted the mouthpiece into place.

“Hi Jisung,” Renjun said.

“Oh!” Jisung had been so focused (and his view so blocked by the giant hunk of gold metal in his lap) that he hadn’t even seen Renjun arrive. “Hi Renjun. What are you doing back here? Aren’t you first row?”

“Yes. But I thought that before practice actually starts I would come and say hello to my favorite freshman.”

Jisung’s cheeks went pink at the compliment. He poked shyly at a brass key.

“Say, Jisung…” Renjun leaned against the back of his chair with his shoulder. “You don’t happen to have a crush on me, do you?”

Jisung went from pink to scarlet, and at first Renjun thought he might have cracked the case, until Jisung said, “Oh, no — I’m sorry Renjun, I don’t have a crush on you.” He scratched his ear. “You really shocked me right there. You don’t have a crush on _me,_ do you?”

“No. Sorry. I was just curious.”

Jisung sighed in relief. “That’s good. Besides, I thought you were dating that tall girl. The scary one with the long hair.”

Renjun’s piccolo slipped out of his hands and made a high-pitched, rattley ding against the tile floor like a dropped quarter. He hastily scooped it back up and checked to make sure it wasn’t dented.

“Me and Yoorim are _not_ dating,” Renjun said firmly.

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Jisung, I’m gay. I started the big gay protest on the school lawn with my big gay sign and my big gay drawing of Trevor holding hands with his sexy fish friend. You were there. Did you not notice?”

Jisung’s jaw dropped as he finally put the pieces together. He nodded intensely to show his understanding.

“So no crush, then,” Renjun said, just to be sure.

“No.”

“Alright.” He shot Jisung one more disparaging glance, wondering if he had not picked the brightest bulb in the drawer as his mentee, but he did not have much time to reconsider his choice before the band instructor called them all to their seats.

—

Renjun spent all of French class working up his courage.

He had no one left to ask. There was only Jeno, who he watched across the classroom. Jeno seemed so normal, so unbothered. _That has to mean it wasn’t him,_ Renjun thought. _If he’d sent me a love note, then wouldn’t he be more nervous to be in class with me?_ But then Jeno made eye contact with him, offering a tiny smile, and Renjun’s heart thumped like a bass drum. _I want it to be him. It has to be._

He stared resolutely at the clock, waiting for the bell.

When it finally rang, he walked out into the hall to find Jeno waiting for him. “Hey,” Jeno said. “Are you going straight to AP Gov?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to walk together, then?”

“Oh — okay.”

They passed among the throngs of students wearing red-and-green sweaters and snowflake earrings. Renjun was reminded of those cheesy Hallmark movies, where a businessman with a perfect body learns the true meaning of love (and Christmas) from a plucky young woman with whom he’s trapped at a ski resort during a snowstorm, or some other silly coincidence. He and Yoorim had always poked fun at them, but secretly, Renjun had always liked those movies. He liked the idea of fated love. He liked the security that sort of fantasy offered.

“You weren’t mad at me earlier, were you?” Jeno asked.

“What?”

“When we were delivering candy canes. I just thought you seemed kind of… distant.”

“No!” Renjun assured him. “Of course not. Sorry. I just had some stuff on my mind.”

Jeno grinned. “That’s good. I was a little worried.”

They were halfway to class. Renjun did not have much time left. He couldn’t let the day end without an answer, or else he’d be thinking about it until the day he died, and then after that it would haunt him as his Ghost of Christmas Past.

“Listen,” he said, stopping and pulling Jeno to the side of the hall. He fumbled nervously with his hair and realized his palms were sweating. “Um. Did you send me that note today?”

Jeno blinked. “You got it already?”

 _You got it already?_ The words echoed over and over in Renjun’s head. They got louder every time.

He nearly forgot to breathe. He leaned back against the locker to keep himself upright in case he fainted.

“So you did?” he pressed. “You sent it?”

“Of course I did. I didn’t forget to put my name on it, did I?” Jeno tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“You did,” Renjun whispered.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Renjun did not know what to do next. Fire alarms were blaring in his chest. His fingers were shaking. He placed an urgent hand on Jeno’s arm. “You really meant what you said?” he demanded. “It wasn’t a joke?”

“What part of it?”

“The whole thing!”

“Of course I meant it. I don’t know what you mean.”

Yoorim had been right. Jeno had sent him that candy cane. Jeno had a crush on him. Renjun still was in the denial stage, but he could feel acceptance creeping up on him. Now all he had to do was say, _I like you too,_ and then tomorrow they could go get lattes, and the week after that they could kiss on Renjun’s couch, praying his mother did not enter from the other room, and then fast forward a year and they would go to college together and get married and have eight super smart kids who would join the student council themselves in high school and carry on Renjun’s prestigious legacy. This was his fated love. This was his Hallmark movie.

Renjun smiled, so relieved he thought he might cry.

“By the way,” Jeno said. “Did you like my gift?”

“Yes!” Renjun said enthusiastically, still gripping Jeno’s arm and squeezing it. In truth he did not really care for mints, but a gift from Jeno was good no matter what. “No one’s ever sent me a candy cane before.”

The question marks rose again in Jeno’s eyes. “I didn’t send you a candy cane,” he said slowly.

Renjun’s hand dropped. Every emotion he’d just felt played through again in reverse.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

—

The conversation was dropped. Jeno did not press for more details, as though he could sense there had been some kind of mix-up. Renjun was glad. He was not in the mood to embarrass himself further.

It was last period. As the teacher rambled on at the front of the room, Renjun covertly slid his phone from his pocket and texted Yoorim.

_yoorim please. i need emotional support. emergency bathroom break?_

He nudged her beside him in her seat. When she looked at him, he nodded at her phone. She picked it up and texted back:

_Emergency? What happened?_

_i can’t explain like this. i’ll raise my hand first. meet me by the stairwell._

_Alright._

He did as he’d said and excused himself to the bathroom, though he walked in the opposite direction towards the east wing staircase, abandoned during the middle of a class period. Yoorim arrived three minutes later, having waited a little bit so as not to seem suspicious.

“Alright, Renjun. What the hell happened?”

“Jeno didn’t send me the candy cane,” he said, words spilling out like a waterfall. “I asked him. It wasn’t him. So I don’t know who it could be. I’m totally lost.”

Yoorim bit her lip. “Well. Maybe you’ll just never know. They could stay your secret admirer forever.”

“But I can’t live with that!” he moaned, covering his face with his hands. “I would be forever plagued by what-ifs. Or the person will reveal themselves, and it’ll be someone totally out of left field, and then I’ll be stuck in a love triangle like in a high school sitcom, and I’ll never be able to deal with that kind of pressure — Yoorim, I can’t deal with two men in my life, I can barely handle the one —”

“Renjun,” she snapped. “Calm down. I sent the candy cane.”

He uncovered his face and let out a little gasp. “You have a crush on me?”

“No, stupid.” She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “I was hoping you would assume Jeno sent it to you and ask him out.”

Renjun’s stomach dropped. “But why would you…”

“Because it gets exhausting watching you walk in circles,” she admitted. “God, Renjun. You know you’re never going to get anywhere if you keep chickening out. It’s so obvious you two would be good together. But if I don’t hold your hand like a little kid and guide you through the entire process, you’re never, _ever_ going to get there.”

It felt like she’d slapped him across the face. Like Mr. Choi had said before, on Halloween — it hurt, because there was a kernel of truth in it. For someone who did so much for his school, for the other students, for his best friend, he could never do anything for himself. Not because he was selfless, but because he was scared.

“You know,” he said, throat sore as tears welled up, “it wasn’t any of your business to get involved in. So what if I’m slow and shooting myself in the foot? That’s _my_ problem, not yours.”

“It _is_ my problem. I’m your friend.”

“You’re not being a very good friend right now.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“I don’t want your help.” He balled his sleeve to wipe his cheek. “It’s _my_ crush. I don’t want you manipulating it and messing around with it. What if I did this to you? What if _you_ were in love for the first time —” He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d just said.

It was as if, for a split second, they forgot they were arguing.

“In _love_?” Yoorim repeated.

It was the first time Renjun had ever said it outloud. The hard L. The serious word. A dropped bomb.

He was in love with Jeno.

Before Yoorim said anything else, Renjun brushed past her towards the bathroom and hid inside a stall. He did not come out until the end of the period.

—

After the final bell rang, Renjun walked alone to his locker to bundle up for the bus. The door swung open and he reached for his scarf where it hung on the hook, but as he pulled it, he realized the ends of it were touching something plasticy on his locker floor.

It was a bag of gummy bears. He picked it up and flipped it over to find a note taped to it.

_Renjun,_

_Merry early Christmas! I was gonna buy you a candy cane but I wasn’t sure if you liked them, but I know for a fact you like gummy bears, so here you go. If you’re wondering how I got them in here, I asked Chenle during lunch, and he told me he had your locker combination for “emergency purposes,” so I asked him if he would put these in here for me as a surprise. Hope I wasn’t overstepping!_

_I’ve had a lot of fun on the student council so far this year. Before I joined it, I was starting to feel like high school was going to end without me really being able to enjoy it. But the student council has helped me to take my mind off of all the other negative stuff. I feel like I’ve gotten to know you a lot better too, and I’m glad we’ve been able to become friends. You do a lot of hard work for the student council, which is why I got you this gift — I wanted you to know your hard work was appreciated!_ (Here, he’d drawn a smiley face).

_I hope you have a good time over winter break. I think I’ll miss the student council a lot for our two free weeks. Not sure how else I’ll entertain myself stuck at home with my dad… Jaemin might get sick of me inviting myself over. Maybe the student council can get together and hang out sometime over break. We could all get coffee or something. Let me know what you think._

_Alright, I’ll shut up now. Hope I’ll see you again soon. Tell Inky I say hi._

_Jeno_

Renjun read the note over three times. He couldn’t even be properly excited about the gummy bears — Jeno’s message meant so much more. A ray of light after a long, awful day.

For safe-keeping, he folded the note carefully, pressed his lips to its edge, and slipped it inside the inner breast pocket of his coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😱😱😱
> 
> promise i wont drag this cliffhanger out too much
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	12. Winter Break

On the first day of winter break, Renjun did not get out of bed until eleven-thirty.

He woke at his usual non-school day time of eight o’clock, but was simply too miserable to move. He pulled his comforter up over his head and shut his eyes, burying his face in his pillow. Winter break was going to suck. He hadn’t spoken to Yoorim since their argument in the hallway. She had texted him a few times ( _Renjun, can we talk?; I’m really sorry; I know you’re mad, but can you at least text me back?_ ). He’d ignored her. He wasn’t ready to talk to her again, and he wasn’t really ready to talk to anyone, hence the clinging to his mattress. From now on, Inky was his only friend. She’d never hurt his feelings or screwed him over. All she did was drool and throw up mysterious, sometimes long-lost objects. Neither of these were sins as serious as backstabbing.

Finally, after hours of sulking, his mother cracked open his bedroom door. “Renjun,” she said. “I’ve knocked a few times but you haven’t answered. Are you dead?”

“No. I’m just tired.”

“Well, I was getting worried. Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs?”

He did as she said, but defiantly. Instead of his usual patterned sweater and skinny jeans, he entered the living room in his biggest hoodie and sweatpants, which he wore so rarely they’d been buried at the bottom of his dresser. He didn’t brush his hair either, leaving it messy and matted in the back as a visual indicator of his mopeyness. Instead of getting breakfast, he simply sprawled over the couch, cheek pressed to the arm of it, and turned on the TV.

That day, his mother was working from home in her little office, answering emails and phone calls. When she came out past noon to make lunch, she saw Renjun and snorted.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He was now under a fuzzy blanket, shoveling gummy bears into his mouth, and in the midst of an _America’s Next Top Model_ marathon. “Nothing,” he said glumly. “You know me. Just doing some classic Renjun things.”

“When I think of ‘Renjun things,’ I typically think of an elaborate arts and crafts project. Or reading a book on an obscure subject like deep-sea fishing or people who have faked their own deaths. Or trying to imitate a recipe you’ve seen on _The Great British Bake Off_ and making a mess of my kitchen _._ Not laying around and neglecting your personal hygiene.” She perched at the end of the couch. “What are you drinking?”

Renjun raised his glass and turned it under the window light. It was a sickly color, like ground-up mud and moss. “A sadness smoothie.”

“What the hell is in it?”

“Milk and green grapes and peanut butter.”

“Sounds awful.”

“It’s all we had in the fridge.”

She realized then the seriousness of his condition. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m upset,” he admitted, staring into the open bag of gummy bears — the ones Jeno had given him. They looked like tiny, translucent rainbow crystals. “Me and Yoorim got in a fight. We aren’t friends anymore.”

“Oh no.” She reached to place a comforting hand on his knee, thumb rubbing in circles. “I’m sure that isn’t true. Remember the last time you guys got in a fight? You made up after that.”

He sunk lower into the couch cushion and covered his eyes with his arm. “That was a long time ago. It was simpler then.”

Their last big fight had been during their freshman year of high school. This was when Zayn had left One Direction, which had resulted in an avalanche of strong emotions on all sides. At first they had simply cried together in Renjun’s room, sharing a blanket around their shoulders and an entire box of tissues. Then Renjun had said something like, “He’s a traitor, I’ll never forgive him, if One Direction breaks up because of this I’ll hate him forever,” and Yoorim had responded with something like, “You don’t know the whole story, he’s knows what’s best for his career, you’re just making assumptions,” and this had somehow descended into a shouting match. Some less than savory insults were exchanged (*Know-it-all,” Yoorim had called him, because she knew it was his least favorite thing to be called), some unbased accusations thrown about (“You’ve always prioritized Zayn over the other members,” Renjun had snapped, finger in her face, “Just admit you’ve only been a Zayn stan this whole time!”), and Yoorim had stormed down the stairs and marched home in the cold weather, even forgetting her scarf in her haste. Renjun had then promptly torn up and trashed their _One Direction Best Friends Secret Journal: The Unofficial Book, Filled with Quizzes, Activities, and Fun Facts About The Boys for You and Your Bestie! Comes with Lock and Key for Your Privacy_ which they’d been maintaining for the past three years, then taped a sign to the front door which read _NO YOORIMS ALLOWED._ The fight had only ended a week later when Renjun had been so lonely that he’d finally come crawling back, handing her a handmade card at school which contained an illustration of the two of them holding hands, and written beneath it, “I love you more than One Direction.” Yoorim had taken him back, and they’d decided after that to put aside their differences. It was not worth ending their friendship over a boy. Especially a boy neither of them had ever met.

Unfortunately, they were now fighting about a boy they _did_ know. The stakes were bigger. The emotions were stronger. The wrongdoings were less forgivable.

“It sounds to me like you guys need to talk things out,” his mother suggested gently.

“I’m still too mad to talk to her.”

“Would you like to fill me in on what this whole thing is about?”

Renjun grimaced. He usually told his mother everything, with the sole exception of telling her anything about his love life, because she got far too excited about that sort of thing. His and Yoorim’s fight sat at an awkward intersection of topics. He had to tread carefully.

“Well,” he began. “I… I feel like she’s been sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. She says she’s only trying to help me, but I think she takes it too far. She really embarrassed me at school yesterday.”

“You are being very vague.”

“I am a teenager. I am secretive by nature.” He paused. “I promise it isn’t anything you need to worry over. Nothing weird.”

His mother let out a long _hmm_ and perched her chin in her palm. “I stand by my original statement. If you guys could communicate, maybe she would understand that there are boundaries you don’t want her to cross.” She smiled. “Even best friends aren’t telepathic. You can’t expect each other to simply know how the other person feels.”

Renjun didn’t feel like eating anymore. He tossed the rest of his gummy bears on the coffee table and snuggled down in his blanket.

“For today, I will allow you to be sad,” his mother said. “Be lazy and grumpy. But I recommend you sort things out before break is over. You don’t want to go back to school still angry at each other, right?”

“I guess,” he mumbled.

“Alright. I am going to eat lunch in my office. Enjoy your _America’s Next Top Model_ marathon. What season is this?”

“Season five.”

“Is that the one where that girl talks to a plant?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good choice.” She gave his knee one last squeeze, made her sandwich in the kitchen, and returned to her office.

One more episode into Renjun’s marathon, there was a knock at the door.

“Can you get that?” his mother called to him.

“No,” he called back.

“Renjun.”

“You said I could be lazy.”

“ _Renjun_ ,” she growled.

He put his blanket on like a cloak and went to the door.

When he opened it, he found Yoorim standing on the step, snowflakes in her hair, a giant cloth bag in her hands.

“Let me in,” she said. “It’s freezing.”

“I’m mad at you,” he reminded her.

“I made you two hundred cookies.”

“You did _what_?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night because we got in that argument, so I went into the kitchen and stayed up all night making two hundred cookies. I used all the butter and my mom yelled at me and I had to walk to the corner store at 2 AM and buy more.” She shook the bag at him. “They’re for you. I made some for Inky, too. They’re shaped like bones.”

Renjun had a weakness for Yoorim’s baking. She knew this, and was playing to it.

“I don’t want your cookies,” he lied, though he could already tell they smelled very, very good through the bag. “They were made by a traitor.”

“Renjun, come on.” For someone so cool and collected, Renjun thought he could hear the slightest strain in her voice. “Please. I’m sorry.”

He could tell she meant it.

He stood aside and let her in.

They brought the cookies to the couch, where Yoorim set it on the middle cushion and pulled the bag down to reveal her hard work. There were plastic containers on top of plastic containers, all filled to bursting. For a second Renjun had thought she was exaggerating about the two hundred cookies thing, but that was very much not the case.

He popped open a container and stuffed a white chocolate macadamia cookie into his mouth. It was so soft it melted in his tongue.

“Oh my god,” he said. “They’re so good.”

“Thank you. I did my best.”

As Renjun munched, they went quiet. Yoorim sat at the very edge of the couch as if she was not quite comfortable there, hands resting awkwardly on her knees.

“I’m really sorry, Renjun,” she murmured.

He remembered suddenly that he’d just declared their friendship over that morning, and glanced back and forth between her and the cookies, trying to decide if he’d let her off the hook too easily. They were _very_ good cookies.

“Listen,” he said, placing the lid back on the container. They were no longer freshmen. They were seniors, and they could talk things out like adults. He pulled his blanket more tightly around his shoulders. “I know you were trying to help me. But it really felt like a bridge too far. All this stuff with Jeno — it’s really personal to me. It made me feel like you were treating it like a joke. Or like some kind of game for your amusement. But it’s not _your_ game. It isn’t fair for you to be playing with it.”

She swallowed as if forcing down a too-big pill. “You really felt like that?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to shame her, but he didn’t want to leave things unresolved either. Carefully, we went on, “And then, in retrospect, it made me feel like you were doing the same thing at the fair. Just… overstepping. And yesterday, I really embarrassed myself in front of Jeno.” He remembered their conversation in front of the lockers, his own over-eagerness, Jeno’s complete befuddlement. He cringed at the memory of it. “Because of that stupid candy cane. He probably thinks I’m nuts now.”

Yoorim’s bottom lip wobbled, and then she had her hands over her face and her face pressed to her knees, folding herself in half. “I’m such a bitch,” she sobbed.

“No,” Renjun said, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “No, you’re not.”

“I am,” she insisted. “I’m the biggest bitch ever. And the worst friend.”

In all the years that Renjun had known her, he’d only seen Yoorim cry two other times, first at the aforementioned One Direction debacle, and the second time when they’d watched _Steel Magnolias_ together in the eighth grade, though that didn’t really count, since any person with a heart cried during that movie. He’d poked her arm, tears streaking down his own face, and asked in disbelief, “Yoorim, are you… _crying_?” She’d been so mad at being caught that she’d grunted “Nuh-uh!” and pretended to fall asleep on the couch for the remainder of the film, though Renjun could tell she’d been trying to hide her tears in the pillow.

To see her cry now was shocking. He gently patted her arm and said, “It’s okay, Yoorim.”

“It’s not.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I’m just —” She sat up a little straighter, rubbing the tears from her eyes. “My life is so boring, and this whole thing with you and Jeno… maybe I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?” Renjun repeated incredulously.

“The crush and the flirting and the _excitement_ — I don’t have anything like that in my life.” She dropped her hands in her lap. Her face was still flushed, a few stray hairs stuck to her forehead. “I guess I was trying to live vicariously through you or something. Because I know I won’t have something like that…”

“Of course you will,” Renjun assured her. “I bet there are a lot of boys who like you. You’re tall. And you’ve got pretty hair.”

“No. No one likes me. Because I’m a bitch.” She gave another sob and fell forward again. “See? It all comes full circle!”

“I thought we decided men are overrated,” Renjun tried.

“But you’ve got a perfect one, so you can’t say anything.”

Now it was Renjun’s face turning red. “I haven’t ‘got’ one. And I don’t _need_ one, and neither do you. We’re only seventeen. You are going to meet a nice boy in college and then you’ll get to have all the flirting and excitement too, and I’ll be your hype-man from the sidelines, just like you’ve been mine. But _only_ from the sidelines,” he added. “No messing with your lovelife. And no more messing with mine. Capiche?”

She nodded.

Renjun pulled her into a hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Also, you know you can talk to me if you’re feeling sad or lonely. Right?”

She giggled, wiping the last of the tears away. “Alright.”

“You are forgiven.”

“I’m glad. I was thinking of baking you a three-tiered apology cake, but you’ve saved me the trouble.”

“That’s okay. It’ll take me a month to get through all the cookies.”

“At least you’ve got Inky to help you.” Yoorim opened one of the containers and pulled out a bone-shaped cookie. She produced a high whistle, and Inky came bounding down the stairs, bouncing at Yoorim’s feet. Yoorim tossed the cookie in the air, and Inky snapped it up. She always had perfect aim when it came to catching food.

“By the way,” Yoorim went on. “We haven’t discussed the other elephant in the room.”

Renjun stared blankly back. “What do you mean?”

“Uh. I mean the whole _you loving Jeno_ thing.”

A tickle crawled up Renjun’s back as he remembered. “That — that was just a slip of the tongue.”

“No way. You are in love with him. L-O-V-E —”

Renjun groaned emphatically as though he’d just been felled by a spear in his side. “Eugh,” it resounded, as he collapsed across the middle cushion. “Yoorim, please… don’t do this…”

“It’s true. You wanna cook him breakfast. You wanna share a toothpaste tube with him.” She lowered her voice diabolically, like this was the blow that would end him: “You wanna _do his laundry._ ”

“No!” Renjun screamed.

Just then, Renjun’s mother emerged from her office, one brow raised. “Is Yoorim here?” she asked. “I thought I could hear the two of you.”

“Mrs. Huang!” Yoorim yelled. “Renjun wants to do Jeno’s laundry!”

Renjun tackled her into the arm of the couch, trying to cover her mouth with his hand while she cackled.

His mother watched with mild amusement. “Jeno? You mean the boy from the student council?”

“No,” Renjun said quickly. “Some other Jeno! Stop licking my hand, Yoorim!”

“Oh my,” his mother murmured. “If you want to do his laundry, that sounds pretty serious. How come you didn’t tell me you had a crush sooner?”

“I don’t! Yoorim is a compulsive liar!”

Yoorim finally reemerged beneath him, gasping for air. “You nearly smothered me!”

“Glad to see you two are back to normal,” his mother said. “Unless this is still a fight. Frankly, I can’t tell.”

“I’m _this close_ to un-forgiving you,” Renjun muttered to Yoorim, holding his thumb and index finger a centimeter apart.

“No!” she cried, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into an inescapable hug. “You ought to know by now that you’re stuck with me.”

—

That night, Renjun’s mother picked up takeout for dinner. They ate it in the living room, paper boxes in their laps, shoveling fried rice into their mouths. His mother sat in the arm chair; he was still half-laying in his nest of blankets from that morning, completing his lazy day in the same place he’d begun it.

“So,” his mother said, biting on the end of a baby corn. “Before we forget to address it — would you like to tell me about this whole Jeno thing?”

Renjun turned up the volume on the TV, amplifying the sound of the wrong answer buzzer on _Family Feud_ so loud it was like a fire alarm going off.

“Renjun,” she shouted above it. “Stop ignoring me.”

“What do you mean?” he shouted back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

She set her food on the side table, marched over, and pried the remote out of his hands, turning the volume back down by twenty notches. Instead of going back to her chair, she plopped down on the cushion beside him. “What are you so embarrassed for?” she asked, toying with his bangs. “I’m not gonna make fun of you for liking a boy. I think it’s sweet.”

He sighed, but didn’t move away from her. “I dunno. I guess it’s just weird for kids to talk to their parents about that kind of thing in general.”

“So it’s not my fault?”

“No.” He paused. “Though I am a little afraid of you ever meeting him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I feel like you’ll be so excited about it that you might inadvertently say something embarrassing.”

She laughed lightly, putting her arm around his shoulder. “Well. Then I promise that, should I ever meet this Jeno person — which I would very much like to — that I will be totally cool. You can even tell me to leave you guys alone if you want. Just give me the signal and I’ll —” She dragged an invisible zipper closed over her mouth, then made a walking gesture with her fingers.

“Okay,” Renjun agreed. “Thanks, Mom.”

“But tell me.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “Is he cute?”

“ _Mom._ ”

“Oh, come on. I want Boy Talk!” She gave him a little shake.

“Alright, alright. Yes, he is cute.”

“Pictures?”

Renjun rolled his eyes, but fished his phone from his pocket anyway. “Don’t you remember? You saw him at the National Honor Society ceremony.”

“Well, maybe I just want some reminding.” She took Renjun’s phone to examine the photo. It was one they had taken on candy cane day morning, all four of the student council members posing in their antlers as Renjun had taken the picture selfie-style. He was in the front, peace sign as usual, with Yoorim at his shoulder, then Donghyuck, then Jeno at the back, smiling a closed-lip smile.

“Oh,” his mother said, placing a finger on Jeno’s face. “He’s this one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Very cute. What about this other boy? He’s cute too.”

“I don’t care about that boy.”

She snorted. “Well, I guess the cuteness is not what’s important.” She lowered her voice, and asked sincerely, “Is he nice?”

“Yes.”

“And he makes you laugh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I approve.” She handed his phone back and kissed him on the top of his head. “Let’s finish our dinner. Then I demand some Jeno stories.”

“Fine,” he conceded, as if he didn’t want to, but really, he was excited about it. He’d talked Yoorim’s ear off about Jeno enough; it was good to have a fresh audience. And there was none better than his mother, who he knew would gasp and coo at every appropriate cue.

—

Three days later, Renjun did something very brave: he decided to invite Jeno to his house.

Now that his mother was in the know, it seemed less daunting. And though he and Yoorim had settled things, he believed she was partially right. If he had too many doubts, he would never make progress. If he wanted Jeno to be his boyfriend, he could not simply sit and wait for it to happen.

He texted Jeno, heart buzzing.

_hey jeno!! i know this is random but i was wondering if you wanted to come over sometime and study together!! we don’t have any hw but i figured we could do some AP exam prep? my review books already came in!!_

Less than ten minutes later:

 _Sure!_ 😁 _What day did you have in mind?_

_tomorrow? maybe like 2?_

_That works! What’s your address?_

And so at 1:30 the next day, Renjun was practically vibrating from room to room, wringing his hands, shooting glances at the front door.

“You good?” his mom asked. She sat in the living room chair, reading a book.

“Jeno’s coming over,” he said.

“You told me that. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Maybe he’ll think our house is weird,” Renjun suggested.

“What’s weird about it?”

“I dunno. Maybe we do things in a weird order. Maybe we’ve been pouring our cereal wrong this whole time. Like, maybe he’s a milk-before-cereal kind of guy.”

“I’ll try not to pour a bowl of cereal in front of him, then.” She looked at the clock. “At almost two in the afternoon.”

The doorbell rang. Renjun ran to answer it, though he stopped to check his reflection off the curved metal of the coffee pot and smooth his hair on the way.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathlessly. Jeno looked shockingly cute, perhaps even cuter than Fall Fair Jeno which Renjun had previously thought was the peak of human achievement. Ruffled hair, black coat, black gloves, and when he came inside and took his layers off, he was wearing a white hoodie with his basketball jersey over top of it, and a pair of torn-knee jeans.

Renjun was not sure he could do this anymore. _This_ Jeno was inside his house. _This_ Jeno was gonna walk sock-footed through his kitchen and say hi to his mom and maybe even use the soap in his bathroom.

“Finally getting to see Mr. Class President’s humble abode,” Jeno said playfully, looking around the kitchen. “Where are the columns and the heavy desk and the men with earpieces?”

“Haha, very funny,” Renjun said. “That’s about twenty years in my future. For now, this’ll have to do.”

From the other room came Inky, running as fast as her tiny legs could carry her.

“Inky!” Jeno squealed excitedly, crouching to greet her. She climbed up onto him, sniffing his face and wagging her tail. “Long time no see!” He pulled his head back a little as she tried to lick his mouth. “Does she usually greet people with kisses?”

“She can be very excitable.” Renjun felt a fleeting moment of jealousy, almost impulsively going to pull Inky away from Jeno by her collar, and then realized that being jealous of a dog was not a good look. Instead, he got one of the remaining bone cookies from the container Yoorim had left and showed Jeno Inky’s various tricks, including _sit, lay down,_ and _spin around,_ which she could only complete halfway before getting confused and spinning back the way she’d come.

They walked into the living room. Renjun’s mother, still in the chair, looked up. “Hi,” she said. “This must be Jeno. Nice to meet you.”

Jeno blinked at her, and put on a delayed smile. “Hi. You must be…?”

“I’m Renjun’s mom.” She set her book on the stand and walked over to shake his hand. “He’s made it sound like you’ve been giving him trouble on the student council this year, though I suspect it’s actually been the other way around.”

Renjun scowled, while Jeno laughed. “He hasn’t been _too_ much trouble. And in all seriousness, I think he’s quite good at his job.”

“That’s good to hear.” She raised an eyebrow in Renjun’s direction, as if saying, _Hear that? He thinks you do a good job. Wink, wink._ “Anyway. If you two get hungry, feel free to help yourselves to snacks. You gonna be studying in Renjun’s room?”

“Yes, mother,” Renjun said quickly, giving Jeno a gentle shove towards the stairs. “So please give us some peace and quiet, okay?” He did the zipped lips gesture they had agreed upon.

“Sure,” she responded. Even her voice had a knowing lilt, and Renjun blushed.

Halfway up the stairs, he let out a breath of relief. Introducing Jeno to Mom, over. First step, survived. He turned the corner at the second floor landing, Inky right at his heels, and opened his bedroom door. She raced in ahead of them and jumped on his bed, tail thumping on the blanket.

“Wow,” Jeno said, glancing around at the posters and full shelves. “It’s pretty much how I imagined it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I dunno. It’s… bright. Colorful.” He grinned. “Blue and yellow walls, huh?” He tapped a finger to the front of his jersey.

Renjun decided that from now on, he would think of his bedroom walls not as _the West Garden colors,_ but as _Jeno’s jersey colors._ “Sit anywhere you want,” he said. “I gotta dig out my review books. I think I put them in one of my desk drawers.”

Jeno went for Renjun’s bed, taking a spot next to Inky. He bounced gently on the mattress, like he was testing to see how he belonged there, a tiny smile on his lips. Renjun blushed and sat in his desk chair, swiveling in the other direction.

“Your mom is nice,” Jeno said.

“Yeah.”

Jeno was silent for a second, like he was debating what to say. Finally, he decided on, “She’s really young looking. I thought she was your older sister or something for a second.”

“Yeah. She’s only thirty-four. We get that a lot.”

“Thirty-four,” Jeno echoed.

Renjun could see him trying to do the mental math. As he pulled open his desk drawer, he helpfully offered, “She had me when she was seventeen.”

“Oh,” Jeno said.

“Yeah.”

Jeno pet Inky idly, rubbing between her ears.

“It’s okay if you think it’s weird,” Renjun said. “Personally, I think it’s a good thing, in some ways.”

Jeno seemed to recognize this as an invitation. “Like what?”

“Well.” Renjun picked up the review books and set them down in his lap, then leaned back, staring up towards the ceiling as he thought it over. “I mean, not all good. She had to drop out, since she was still in high school. It was really hard for her. But my grandparents wanted to make sure she could finish school and go to college, so they took care of me when I was little. I lived with them in Highwood.”

“That’s a couple hours away, right?”

“Yeah. It’s down south.” His thumb grazed the edge of his books, making the pages flutter. “My mom got her GED, then she went away for college, so I didn’t get to see her much. She got a job after that in West Gardens — the job she does now. And my grandparents helped her to put a payment down on a house. Then I moved in with her when I was eleven. It was kinda weird, since I hadn’t lived with her since I was a baby. Honestly, we weren’t very close. I didn’t know her very well. But because I was older, it didn’t feel like moving in with a parent. It was like moving in with a cool new friend. My best friend, besides Yoorim. We talk about everything together.” He smiled to himself. His relationship with his mother was different than most people’s, but he wouldn’t have had it differently. After the initial awkwardness when they began living together, they became inseparable. He loved his mom more than anyone else in the world.

Jeno leaned in, like he was enraptured. Renjun had never thought someone would be interested in his story, but Jeno was the sort of person who cared about other people’s stories. He was patient, and he was a listener. That was part of the reason Renjun liked him so much.

“What about your dad?” Jeno asked gently.

Renjun scooted his chair closer to the bed. He busied himself by laying one of the books open on the bedspread between them, that way he might sound very casual as he answered, “He was seventeen too. He was too young to want a kid. So he was never really in the picture. He sends child support every month. And he sends me a birthday card every year.” He frowned and folded a crease out of a page. “That’s it.”

“I’m sorry for asking so much.”

“It’s okay.” Honestly, Renjun didn’t mind it at all. His family was normal to him. It had bothered him a little when he was younger — other kids asking him why he lived with his grandparents, sending his dad Father’s Day presents in the mail and not receiving a note back — but he was happy now. He was not ashamed of it in the slightest.

Jeno seemed to realize this. The atmosphere was comfortable, and Renjun was an open book. He prodded a little further. “You don’t ever feel angry at your mom? For going away?”

Renjun shook his head defiantly. “It was hard. But she did it for my sake — so she could get a good job and take care of me someday. So I forgive her.”

“I’m kind of jealous,” Jeno admitted.

This surprised Renjun. He always thought other people might find him pitiful, even if he disagreed with them. “Are you angry with your parents?” Renjun asked.

“I… I don’t trust them.” His hands folded around the edges of the book. There was a small tension, like he was going to take it, but instead he held it there between them, Renjun’s hand still gripping the other end. “I found out, before they split up — I found out they were both having affairs.”

Renjun wondered very briefly why Jeno was telling this to him. It was too personal, too raw. He felt like he shouldn’t be hearing it. But it occurred to him that Jeno might not have ever talked about it before, maybe not even to Jaemin. He needed someone to listen to him, like he had listened to Renjun.

“I know that wasn’t anything that hurt me directly,” Jeno went on. “But it made me feel like I didn’t know them. If they could have entire lives I didn’t know about — other people they loved, and all these secrets — then it’s like they weren’t the people I thought they were. After I learned that… they were like total strangers to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Renjun said.

“It’s okay. It made them breaking up a little easier. It was better that way, than them cheating on each other.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing it along his brow, and let out a shuddering sigh. “I think that’s the worst thing you could ever do to someone. Especially someone you love. I’d never — if I had someone — I would never do that to them. Never. It’s so fucked up.”

The atmosphere was no longer comfortable. Renjun looked at the book between their hands, and felt like they were using it as an in-between, a touch-by-proxy. He defied it, and put his hand on top of Jeno’s. Jeno gazed at it emptily for a moment, as if he was too caught up in his thoughts to really process it — the same way he’d looked on the ferris wheel, frightened and a little sick. Afraid of heights, afraid of crashing.

Renjun stood from his chair and moved to the spot beside him on the bed. “Come here, Inky,” he called softly. Inky, who had been nibbling the ends of Renjun’s pillowcase, bounded over. He picked her up and placed her in Jeno’s lap. “I think she likes you a lot,” he said. “She has accepted you into her inner circle.”

Inky wiggled happily in Jeno’s lap. He stroked her along her back, then held her close at his chest, and Renjun thought it looked a little like a child consoled by a stuffed animal. Jeno breathed in and out. He seemed to steady himself.

“Does she do any other tricks?” he asked.

“We tried to teach her to roll over, but she always flips on her back and gives up.”

Jeno laughed, and it was the biggest relief Renjun had ever felt.

“Wanna try to get her to do the full three-sixty?” he asked.

“Bet I can succeed where you’ve failed,” Jeno responded.

Renjun poked him in the side, and went back downstairs to fetch Inky’s cookies.

—

On December 22nd, the student council met for coffee, just as Jeno had written on Renjun’s note. It had started with a message from Renjun in the groupchat, a simple _what do u guys think about lattes and croissants before xmas??_ Yoorim and Jeno had agreed right away, and Donghyuck had left them all on read until Renjun had added, _i’ll be bringing u all extra special xmas gifts!!_ , which seemed a sufficient temptation; Donghyuck finally answered, _fine, but if you talk to me about student council stuff i’m gonna leave._

So in the late afternoon, they all met at _The Coffee Garden,_ taking the table near the shop windows, where the Christmas tree was set up and decorated in silver and gold ornaments. Lights were strung close to the ceiling, warm against the yellow wood walls, like a cabin in firelight. Renjun was the last to arrive (though not late, of course) because he’d been putting the final touches on his gift bags which he carried with the handles on his arms, tufts of sparkly tissue paper poking out from the tops.

“There he is,” Yoorim said, grinning as he took his seat between her and Donghyuck at the table. “Oh my, he’s come prepared.”

“Of course I did.” Renjun shoved each bag towards its respective recipient.

“The rest of us didn’t realize this was an exchange.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything. I’m just being a good president.”

“He’s trying to upstage us,” Donghyuck muttered.

“Shut up and open your gift.” Renjun smacked the side of the bag in front of him.

All three of them began to rifle through the tissue paper. Simultaneously, they pulled out a black photo frame.

“Why have you gifted us all a signed print of your yearbook photo?” Yoorim asked. She turned it around, so everyone could compare their matching Renjuns in his fancy pinstripe shirt and suspenders against the speckled blue backdrop. It was, in his opinion, his best yearbook photo yet — no zits, no cowlicks, and no braces sabotaging his smile as they had from seventh to tenth grade.

“Because when I’m president someday, those autographs are gonna be worth a lot of money. You’ll be able to sell them and pay for your kids’ college tuition.”

“Very thoughtful, thank you,” Yoorim deadpanned.

“That’s just a bonus,” he informed them. “You all got individualized gifts, too.”

Donghyuck unceremoniously dumped his bag empty on the table. A plastic bottle rolled out with a thump.

“This is a bottle of body spray,” he said.

“Yes it is,” Renjun responded.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“Oh, no!” Renjun said innocently. “Of course not. I just thought maybe you didn’t have any at home. Did you see the scent?”

“ _Bloody Knuckles,_ ” Donghyuck read.

“Sounds sexy, right? The girls will be falling right in your lap.”

Donghyuck glanced back and forth between Renjun and the bottle, seemingly trying to decide how insulted he should be. He finally uncapped it, sniffed it, then shrugged and shoved it inside his backpack.

Yoorim opened her gift next. She gripped the edge of another frame and murmured, “Please don’t tell me it’s a second photo of you,” before she got a proper look at it. It was a lovingly rendered portrait of her done in a mix of watercolor and pastel, except her eyes were constructed from glued-on sequins and her hair from black yarn. He’d spent at least five hours on it, art supplies strewn over the dining table. He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom at one point and come back to discover Inky had stolen his yarn ball and was slurping up its string like it was a piece of spaghetti. He’d had to put her in timeout, babygate positioned between the kitchen and living room. She’d whined from the other side the rest of the evening, appalled at the injustice.

“Oh my,” Yoorim said.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do. I always tell you that you’re a magnificent artist.”

“And you are my muse.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “What’s it say on my shirt?”

“It’s a letter I’ve written, printed out, and paper machéd into place. You might need a magnifying glass to read it. I had a lot to say and not much space to put it.”

“All positive things, I assume?”

“Of course. There’s even a poem in it. I compare your flawless skin to the perfectly flat sheen of a freshly-inflated balloon.”

“How flattering.”

Across the table, Jeno dug into his bag. He seemed surprised at the size of the object he found there, and stared blankly at the sphere in his hands for a moment until he realized what it was. “It’s a basketball?”

“Yeah.” Renjun leaned in to try and point to it as he explained, “I painted it. With all kinds of stuff from this year.”

Jeno turned it over slowly. Each of the sections between the black lines was painted with a different scene: a car wash, a scooter race in the gym, four Teletubbies all in a row.

“Oh my god,” Jeno laughed. “That’s us.”

“Yup! It’s a one-of-a-kind West Gardens Senior Class Student Council Basketball. A collector’s item.” He added quickly, “I do not recommend actually using it in a game. The paint might crack.”

“Of course.” Jeno kept turning it, over and over, searching for every little detail. “Hey!” he exclaimed with a giddy smile. “There’s Gilbert!”

“Gilbert?” Yoorim repeated.

“Gilbert T. Bear,” Jeno explained. “Renjun gave him to me at the fair.” He touched his fingers to the drawing of the blue teddy bear. He was drawn in his doctor’s white coat and a stethoscope around his neck, beside his degree from Bearington U. “That’s amazing.”

“You like it?” Renjun asked. He felt like he’d swallowed the sun, its light spilling out of him uncontrollably. He couldn’t contain his happiness.

“It’s great.” Jeno looked up and met Renjun’s eye. “It’s really great. Thank you.”

“How come these two got handmade gifts,” Donghyuck objected, “and all I got was a bottle of body spray?”

“Shut up, Donghyuck,” Renjun murmured, not looking away from Jeno’s face, or the place where his hands rested tenderly on the sides of the ball. He might have looked at Jeno forever just like that, if he had the choice.

With gift-giving finished, they ordered their drinks and sat at the cafe for another forty-five minutes, chatting over the rising steam from their cups. Renjun had not pictured a student council quite like this one at the beginning of the year — he had not expected Jeno, and certainly not Donghyuck — but he found he was satisfied with it. They had an unexpected, sometimes explosive chemistry. But he had to get used to the unexpected. Things would be less predictable with every day they came closer to graduation.

At four-thirty, Renjun’s phone dinged on the table.

“My mom’s gonna be here in a few minutes,” Renjun said. “I’m gonna go out and wait for her.”

“Alright.” Yoorim stood to give him a hug. “See you.”

Renjun said his goodbyes to Donghyuck and Jeno, but Jeno said, “Actually, I’ll go and wait with you. If you want. My dad’s on his way too.”

“Oh.” Renjun felt a fluttering in his stomach. He waited for Jeno to gather his coat and belongings (basketball replaced in its bag), and they stepped out the cafe door onto the tiny front patio, where the awning covered their heads from the snow.

By now, winter had dawned strong enough to make the sun set early. The sky was dark at the top and clinging to its last inches of paleness at the bottom. Stars studded it in bands. Renjun leaned against the patio railing and watched them, feeling the happiest he had in awhile.

“It’s pretty, huh?” Jeno said. He gestured towards the parking lot, where the snowflakes darted in front of headlights as cars moved slowly around bends. Renjun thought it was pretty too, in an ordinary way.

“Well, we’d better get used to it,” he responded. “We’ll be stuck in the snow till March.”

“Do you like the snow?”

“Yeah. Though more as an aesthetic object. You know, like when you’re watching it snow out the window, while you’re inside in a comfy bathrobe, reading a good book.”

Jeno laughed. “So you like to admire it from a distance.”

“Yes. I don’t take to the cold well. I chalk it up to my svelte form. No insulation.”

Jeno laughed harder, eyes crinkling. Renjun decided that Jeno was also an excellent aesthetic object, one he liked to admire from a distance, except he was more than that, too. He wanted that distance to disappear.

“Are you excited for Christmas?” Jeno asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“What does your family usually do?”

“Me and my mom do Christmas at home in the morning. Drink coffee and swap presents and stuff.” It was their special tradition. Inky joined them as well, Renjun always assisting her in unwrapping her rawhide chew. “Then we head out to my grandparents for the afternoon. We eat Christmas dinner all together. Play board games. Eat pie. It’s quiet, but it’s nice.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Yeah. What about you?”

Jeno shrugged. “I don’t know. It’ll be different this year than it has been.”

Renjun remembered suddenly that this was the first Christmas since Jeno’s parents had divorced. He shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Oh. Yeah. Are you just doing Christmas with your dad?”

“I think so. Then Christmas with my mom the day after.” He leaned his head back against the pillar behind him, watching the cars move in and out. He breathed, and the air escaped him as a white puff, cold, covering his eyes. “It won’t really feel like Christmas. I think it’ll be miserable.”

Renjun felt sorry for him. He’d never wanted to be pitied for his family, and he thought Jeno must feel the same way; but it was hard to not feel a little broken by osmosis, like the sadness was something that sat tangibly in between them. He wished there was something he could say, but words failed him for a change.

So he crossed the small space of the patio and circled his arms around Jeno’s neck, leaning his head on his shoulder. He felt Jeno’s chest move against him with a sharp inhale, surprised at the touch. But he hugged Renjun too, hands on his back, settling into the pose like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Renjun thought it had to be fate that they fit together so easily.

It lasted a while. Renjun breathed in, taking in the scent at the collar of Jeno’s coat. It was additional confirmation that Jeno smelled very, very good, half like home, half like cocoa butter. Whatever body wash he used was the bomb.

Finally, Renjun went to pull away, though it was difficult to do. As he raised his head, his nose bumped the side of Jeno’s jaw, eliciting from him a quiet “ah, oops.” The closeness was more evident when they could see each other’s faces again. Renjun blushed, and tried to look elsewhere, only for his gaze to settle on a place just above their heads, where a sprig of mistletoe hung from the patio awning.

“Um.” Renjun was again not sure what to say. Jeno looked up too, taking a moment to register what it meant. When he did, he licked his lips uncertainly, eyes falling back to Renjun’s face. His hand, still at the small of Renjun’s back, began to move.

The cafe door opened. They quickly moved away from each other.

“Hey Jeno — you forgot your gloves inside,” Yoorim said. She held them out to him, completely oblivious.

Jeno went to take them, back turning.

Renjun ran away down the front steps, out towards the parking lot, where his mother was just pulling in. He did not know what might have happened had he stayed, but the breakneck beating of his heart told him it might have been enough to make him completely burn up.

—

On Christmas morning, Renjun and his mother sat side-by-side on the couch, sipping cups of coffee. Stockings had been emptied and presents opened. Inky chewed her new bone in the middle of the floor, laying on top some discarded wrapping paper.

Renjun’s mother yawned. “I suppose we ought to get dressed.”

“Grandpa and Grandma won’t care if we show up in our PJs,” Renjun said.

“I guess not. But I object on principle. Plus, we need to put on our Christmas sweaters. Or else it’s not really Christmas, is it?”

They’d just exchanged their Christmas sweaters for that year. Renjun had gotten one for his mother which bore a cat in a red suit and hat and the words “SANTA PAWS,” while his mother had gotten him one with a 3D Rudolph head, complete with red poof ball nose.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” His mother stood and went into her office. Renjun watched her with curiosity, peering over the back of the sofa. When she came back, she had a thin folder with a Christmas bow stuck on the front. She handed it over to him. “Here. Open it.”

“What is it?”

“A special bonus gift.”

Skeptically, he opened it. Inside was a print-out of a news article. “What the…” he whispered before reading the headline:

_Complaints lodged at local high school towards sex education curriculum brought to state legislators, potential for change on horizon_

He read it three times. Below was a photo from the protest outside of West Gardens, showing all the students gathered on the sidewalk. If he looked very closely, he could see himself there, his Trevor the Trout sign lofted in the air.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Is this real?”

“It is. You should read the whole thing, but… yeah. You made something happen.”

“I can’t believe it,” he said, fingers shaking on the paper. He was nearly going to start crying, but he didn’t want to get tear stains on his gift. He wanted it in pristine condition to frame and hang above his desk.

His mother cupped his cheek in her hand. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. She smiled, and he thought it looked like she was about to cry, too.

Renjun decided he was the luckiest person in the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! just wanted to give you some updates about the mcp! posting schedule:
> 
> the fic will be taking a short hiatus for the rest of the month. i need the time to finish up a fic for a fest. if i'm able to finish it up early, mcp may see a return sooner. but for now, my estimate for the next chapter is probably sometime in february.
> 
> additionally, when mcp comes back, updates will probably be slightly slower than you've become used to. i am desperately behind on updating my other chaptered fic, so i'd like to prioritize that, which means a bit less time to spend on mcp. hope you all understand, and thank you so much for all your support!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


	13. Bake Sale

Winter break had begun broken, but by its end, Renjun felt that things had pieced themselves back together. He and Yoorim had made up. He and Jeno had hung out alone outside of school for the very first time (and not a single mention of the hopefully long-forgotten candy cane incident). He’d received that perfect present from his mother and proved to himself that he could wear his “class president” pin proudly, because like any good president, he could make real change.

And so, on the first day back from break, he felt honestly and truly refreshed. “No more Mopey Renjun,” he told his reflection as he washed his face in the morning. “Positive Renjun is back in the driver’s seat!” He practiced his winning smile, sweeping his hand back through his hair. “So handsome,” he whispered, in awe of himself. Even _he_ was falling for himself a little.

And if he was, why couldn’t Jeno?

This was Renjun’s new outlook. There was nothing stopping him. He was going to kiss Jeno before the end of the school year or die trying. And Jeno would kiss him back, because Renjun was perfectly charming and endearing and had very good taste in clothes. For his first day back, Renjun had labored for an hour the previous night to pick out the best, most appealing outfit he could — his red sweater that fit just snugly enough to show off his petite yet alluring form, his artfully torn and faded jeans which had cost him five months worth of his allowance, his combat boots which were newly shined as if he’d just carried them out of the store. As a final touch, he’d selected his black beret, the classiest one in his collection. When he walked into AP Bio in a few hours, Jeno would be so blown away at the sight of him he’d fall out of his chair.

Renjun shot finger guns at himself in the mirror, and walked downstairs to eat a bowl of Lucky Charms before the bus got there. A lucky cereal, to usher in luck for his final semester. He ate the marshmallows in rainbow color order, from red balloons to blue moons. The rainbows themselves were saved for last, as they were his favorite.

“Final semester,” his mother sung as she walked into the kitchen, perky and energized even at six-thirty in the morning — must have been where Renjun got it from. “Excited?”

“Yup.” He brought his empty bowl to the sink and rinsed it. “I’m gonna make it the best semester yet.”

“Have you made a list of goals in your planner?”

“Indeed.” He’d done it just before bed last night, leaned over his desk with his stickers, colored pens, and washi tape strewn in front of him. The list, when completed, had looked like this:

1\. Beat student council fundraising goals for a kickass senior trip!

2\. Maintain first-in-class position until the end of the year and give a graduation speech so good you make everyone cry!

3\. Be the prom king! If possible, have Yoorim reign by your side as prom queen!

4\. Acquire boyfriend (Jeno).

5\. Leave West Gardens a better place than it was when you arrived!

Before he left, he checked his list one last time and tapped an eager finger to number four. _Positivity,_ he reminded himself. _Daring. Guts. Growth!_ Then he laced his boots and walked out the door.

—

The tables were turned on him when he walked into AP Bio at fourth period.

“Hey Jeno!” he said, entering the classroom. He’d just spent the past five minutes in the bathroom, making sure his beret was perched on his head in the exact right position. That work was nearly ruined when he stopped abruptly in his tracks, the kid behind him smacking into his backpack with an annoyed grunt.

Jeno was wearing glasses. Renjun had never seen him in glasses before. They were semi-rimless, dark-framed, slipping down his nose. He pushed them back up, saw Renjun by the door, and smiled. “Hey.”

Renjun gripped the edge of the desk at the front of the room, body curled like he’d just received a suckerpunch to the gut. He was going to faint. He was actually going to collapse right there on the spot. This was an unprecedented attack. An ambush.

 _Curse you, Lee Jeno,_ Renjun thought, the words underlined by the sound of his own heartbeat. _Curse you and your dumb face and your stupid glasses._

Renjun swallowed the dry lump in his throat, tried to will himself to stop sweating, and walked over to Jeno’s seat.

“What’s, uh… what’s with the glasses?” he asked casually.

“Oh. I lost one of my contacts last night, so I went back to basics.” Jeno ran a sheepish hand through his hair. “I know I look weird in them, huh?”

_You look so fucking good that I am five seconds away from dragging you into the bio supply closet and kissing the daylights out of you._

“No, you look… normal,” Renjun lied.

“Oh. Good.” Jeno adjusted his glasses again and glanced up and down at Renjun, from his shiny boots to his red sweater. “You…” He paused and licked his lips. “The beret’s back.”

“Oh. Yeah. Haha.” Renjun fiddled uselessly with it. “It’s making a grand return. Starting the final semester with a bang.”

“Well. I like it.” Jeno looked like he was going to say something else too, but the biology teacher walked in and set his papers on the front table. Renjun tore himself away from Jeno’s desk and back to his own spot in the front, where Yoorim had since slid into her seat, waiting for him. He dropped beside her, gasping as though he had not breathed for the past two minutes.

“That was the most painful exchange I’ve ever heard in my life,” Yoorim whispered to him from the corner of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” he hissed back, tugging at the neck of his sweater to cool down the sizzling, Jeno-induced, full-body blush heat.

“Your flirting needs serious work. It was like you were being served perfect hits, then swatting them right back into the net.” She took in his still-flushed face, and added, “Also, I didn’t know you had a thing for glasses.”

“Me neither. Guess I’ve learned something new about myself.”

“Your knees were shaking.”

“Shut up,” he said, trying to rub the redness out of his ears, accidentally nudging his beret again, tipping it sideways.

—

Though Renjun’s first big move of the semester had been a massive flop (“ _Note to self: be aware that Jeno’s cuteness can be weaponized against you_ ”), he had no doubts that the student council was going to flourish under his final six months of leadership. Flirting was not his strength, but fundraising was. He strode into the student council room at the end of the school day, pointedly trying not to look too hard at Glasses Jeno in case it sent him spiraling again, and announced to the room, “Time to have some fun! Who’s ready?”

Yoorim produced a monotone “woot woot,” while Donghyuck burped after a long sip from a Mountain Dew can.

“Nice to see you in bright spirits, Renjun,” Mrs. Jang said. She’d wheeled the whiteboard to the front of the room and had erased their previous semester’s fundraising calendar, readying them with a clean slate. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a list of ideas tucked away somewhere, have you?”

“Naturally.” Renjun sat in his designated chair and pulled his planner from his backpack. “The real question is what order we’d like to tackle them in.”

“Well, let’s brainstorm.” Mrs. Jang uncapped her green dry-erase marker. “Anyone have an idea for what event they’d like to do first? It would be nice to get something in before the end of the month.”

“What about a spaghetti dinner? Or a book sale?” Even as he flipped through his planner pages to find his list, Renjun was already reeling off bullet points, practically having them memorized without looking. “Or we could do a bowling night —”

“How come _he_ always chooses our activities?” objected Donghyuck. “I think one of the rest of us should pick it this time.”

“If you have an idea, we’d love to hear it,” Renjun said skeptically.

Donghyuck fell silent for a long minute, as if his brain’s cogs were turning with great difficulty, and finally said, “What about a car wash?”

“We did that in chapter four,” Yoorim pointed out.

Donghyuck squinted hard. “Are… are you sure?”

“I yelled at you and everything,” Renjun reminded him. “Remember?”

“That sounds like us, but it isn’t ringing a bell.”

“How little attention do you pay to the student council? Do our club meetings pass you by like fever dreams?”

“Nuh-uh,” Donghyuck responded indignantly. “I remember that one… the one with the gingerbread men.”

“He’s not talking about the candy canes, is he?” Jeno said.

“We’re getting off topic.” Yoorim jabbed Renjun’s arm. “Give us your best idea. Just one.”

Renjun finally found his list and looked it over. His eyes fell to one of the ideas and lit up. “Oh! Perfect. What about a bake sale?” He flipped a few pages further, to where he’d fleshed the thought out on a full page, all the tiniest details expanded, a plate of fresh-baked cookies doodled in the corner. “There’s supposed to be a student art show downtown on Saturday. We could set up a table in the lobby where people come in and sell cookies and brownies.”

“That’s a good idea, Renjun,” Mrs. Jang said, jotting it onto their calendar. “So everyone would have to bake something to bring in. I don’t mind making something as well.”

“Yoorim bakes a mean brownie,” Renjun said.

“I suppose that’s going to be my thing, then,” she concluded.

“Yes. Plus some extras baked specially for me, your best friend.”

She rolled her eyes, but began jotting down a shopping list for ingredients.

“What about you, Donghyuck?” Renjun asked.

He shrugged. “My mom is a decent baker. She can probably help me whip something up.”

“Why do I get the feeling your mom is going to be doing all the work?” Yoorim murmured.

Donghyuck ignored her needling, and said, “Put me down for chocolate chip cookies.”

Renjun, who had still been consciously trying to ignore Jeno so as not to get completely distracted by him, realized the other boy had had a shy hand raised for a while. He nodded to him.

“I’m not really a baker. So… I’m not sure what I should do,” Jeno admitted.

A lightbulb flickered on in Renjun’s head. _Daring, guts, growth,_ he told himself again, forcing himself not to swallow the idea down like he might have done a month ago.

“We can bake together,” he offered, so thrilled and nervous at the thought that he nearly tripped over the words. “I know some good recipes, and we can get more done as a team anyway. We’ll have a baking marathon.”

“Are you sure? I’m pretty clumsy in a kitchen. I might burn the house down.”

“In that case,” Renjun pushed, feeling a new, eager confidence, “let’s do it at your place. If you’re going to burn a kitchen down, it won’t be mine.”

Jeno laughed, and said, “Fine. That should work.”

Renjun mentally high-fived himself. He’d just been invited to Jeno’s house, and it had hardly taken any effort at all. This whole _daring_ thing was paying off splendidly.

When the student council meeting was over, Renjun found Jeno waiting for him outside the classroom, phone out. “Hey,” he said, grinning cutely behind his glasses. “I’ll send you my address for when you come over. What day are we doing? Friday?”

“Friday sounds perfect,” Renjun answered.

The conversation could have ended there, but they lingered a few seconds longer, like they wanted it to continue but neither could come up with a good reason for it to. Renjun took that burden on himself, his new life philosophy propelling him, and said, “I like your glasses.”

Jeno took them off and placed them on Renjun’s face, careful to make sure he didn’t poke him in the ears with the temple tips.

“What are you doing?” Renjun asked, words bumpy with a suppressed giggle.

“Just testing it out.”

“Wow.” Renjun blinked, trying to peer through the thick lenses. “Your eyesight really sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“You look like a blob.”

“A handsome blob?”

 _A very handsome blob._ “A blobby blob. Like a blobfish.”

Jeno laughed and took his glasses back. Finally, he walked away down the hall, waving to Renjun over his shoulder.

A few seconds later, Renjun’s phone buzzed. It was Jeno, sending him his address.

Renjun thought this all seemed suspiciously like a date.

—

That night, Renjun sat at his desk in his room, bent over an open book. The title was _Reeling Him In: Secrets of Seduction to Score Your Perfect Hottie,_ and on the cover was a photograph of the author, Melinda Carlson, a dating coach and self-proclaimed “love expert” with a highly complicated braided bun and a slinky-yet-vaguely-professional red dress who held a finger to chin as she smirked playfully. He had detoured after school to the public library to find a suitable resource (he would not have been able to take out such a thing from the school library with the knowledge that Mr. Choi would see it and stifle a laugh), and finally settled on this particular book after much pacing in front of the self-help section. He was still embarrassed to get it, but after his many failed attempts with Jeno and the flat-out disaster that had been his flirting with Donghyuck during the candy cane debacle, he had come to the conclusion that he needed a little help. He was a novice. Melinda Carlson was a queen of courtship. He would read and memorize every word she’d written.

Presently, he was jotting down notes from the chapters in his notebook. He realized quite quickly that many of the tips in the book would not be applicable to him, as the target audience seemed to be straight women — _Don’t be afraid to put your finest assets on display,_ one section read. _A deep v-neck and a lacy bra can be a lethal combination!_ Renjun did not think a deep v-neck was going to do him any favors. He would stick to his coziest turtlenecks, thank you very much.

However, some of the advice was a bit more universal. _Be confident. Maintain eye contact. Don’t be afraid of physical contact, like a light touch on the arm or a brush of the hands. Ask questions, make him believe you’re really interested in what he has to say. Offer compliments at every turn. Smile like every word he says makes your day. Laugh, even if the joke isn’t funny._ Renjun could do all of those. And he hoped by the end of their baking endeavor, he and Jeno would be much closer than they were now. Like, lips-on-lips kind of close. Renjun could only hope.

His stomach tickled at the thought. Once he was done with his notes, he picked up his phone where it sat by his pencil bag and dialed Yoorim’s number.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m getting nervous all of a sudden.”

“About what?”

“The bake sale thing.” He’d explained his plan to her that afternoon via text, including a photo of his book for reference. “I was feeling so good about it, but I’m getting cold feet again.”

“He’s just a boy,” she said, “and _you’re_ just a boy. You have a tendency to overcomplicate things. I don’t even think you need that silly book. Just hang out with him like you usually do.”

“You’re the one always telling me to do more.”

“I didn’t mean some elaborate seduction plan. I meant following through. Being honest and direct. That kind of thing.”

“But I’ve been trying that for months, and I still haven’t made any progress.” He slumped in his chair, laying his free ear against his desk. “I have to do _something_ different.”

“No progress at all? Are you sure about that?”

Renjun chewed his lip. It had become hard to tell. Too much push-and-pull, close-then-far-away.

Yoorim read the silence, and went on, “Well, I guess just do what feels right. Maybe Ms. Carlson really is an expert. In any case, if you need something on the day of, just call me, okay? I’ll be your wingman.”

Renjun allowed a tiny, relieved smile to slip through. “Alright. Thanks, Yoorim.”

“No problem. Seeya tomorrow.” She hung up.

Renjun rubbed his eyes to dispel his sleepiness and opened the book again, desperately soaking in the wisdom.

—

On the Friday before the art show, Renjun rode the bus to Jeno’s house after school.

They sat in one of the seats furthest back, as was customary. It worked the same way on Renjun’s bus as well: middle schoolers at the front, a hard stop halfway where the emergency exit door was, and beyond that, only high schoolers allowed. The high schoolers then sorted themselves out in a hierarchy, from freshman to senior. Seniors had the most privileged position in the far back (the second-to-last seat, as the last seat always remained vacant, due to a long-spun wives’ tale that the last seat was the most dangerous; Renjun had never been able to confirm whether this was true or not). He and Jeno were in the second-to-last seat on the left, with Renjun by the window. When they’d first boarded, Jeno had guided them to the back, then stood aside and let Renjun sit on the inside. Renjun thought this was a very courteous and chivalrous gesture. The window seat was always best.

He peered out the window now, watching the houses and trees flash by. He’d thought often over the past few months about what Jeno’s house would be like. Maybe he would discover that Jeno had secretly been the son of a super rich family this entire time. Maybe he had a hot tub and an L-shaped couch and a fancy double stove with red knobs. Renjun fantasized about this briefly, then decided it did not really matter to him whether Jeno was rich or not. He liked him for who he was (and for his face), which was not affected by the dollar tag on his sneakers.

When the bus rolled to a stop, it became clear anyway that Jeno was not super rich or super poor, but remarkably average. Average sized two-story house, cobbled from a mix of brick and white siding. Average sized yard with a rusty old swing set in the back, disused past Jeno’s adolescence. White plastic yard chair on the front porch, which was not used as a seat but as a stand to prop the snow shovel against. Renjun stepped off the bus behind Jeno and said, “That must be Jaemin’s house, then.” He pointed to the next yard over, to a slightly more elegant-looking blue house, wreath on its door, backyard shut in by a tall fence.

“That’d be it,” Jeno confirmed. “He’s got photography club today, though.”

Renjun breathed a sigh of relief. He’d had the fleeting thought that all three of them might get off the bus together, and then Jaemin would somehow casually wriggle himself into their plans. That would not do on a day like today. Renjun needed the one-on-one time to execute his plan.

They trudged up the porch and inside through the front door, letting out shivery coos as the warm air hit them. They peeled off their winter coats and scarfs. Again, Renjun thought it was as average a house as he could imagine. Right inside the front door was the kitchen, small but functional, and the dining table. There was a half-wall behind the kitchen counters, and beyond it was the living room, which had cream-colored carpets and a faded green couch, clearly well-used based on the permanent dents in the cushions.

Renjun stuffed his scarf and mittens in the sleeves of his coat for safe-keeping, and Jeno hung it for him on the rack. “Come on,” Jeno said, walking past into the living room. “I’ll show you around quick. Unless you wanted to get right to baking.”

“No, no,” Renjun said, quietly excited. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“The bathroom’s here.” Jeno led him to the far back of the living room, showing him a door to the side. Across from it was the staircase, which Jeno began to step up, watching behind him to make sure Renjun was following. “Careful,” he said. “They’re a little steep.”

Renjun’s hand slid up the bannister, wondering how many times Jeno’s had traced the same path. It was strange how small details like that seemed so significant — even just occupying a space that belonged to Jeno and his childhood felt precious. They reached the second-floor landing and a short hallway. Another detail, this one less precious and more panging, which Renjun did not neglect to notice: two photos hung on the wall, one of Jeno at perhaps nine or ten; the other from the same day, of Jeno and his father sitting on their front porch, a jack-o-lantern beside them, fallen leaves touching the toes of their shoes. There was a space for a third photo, obviously missing due to the brighter square of wallpaper that marked where it had been. _A photo with his mother in it,_ Renjun thought. Maybe his mother took it with her when she moved out. Maybe his father had taken it down, and it sat at the bottom of a closet, trying to be forgotten.

“This is my room,” Jeno told him, pushing open a door on their left.

Renjun sucked in a breath like he was about to learn a secret. When he walked through the door, his first impression was that Jeno’s room was small, seeming smaller due to the dark blue walls, seeming even smaller than that due to the clutter. Renjun thought it was messy, but he realized it was organized, sentimental chaos like the pages of a scrapbook. A collection of tiny succulents in speckled pots, piles of heavily tabbed books, photo frames crowding surfaces. Renjun beelined right for the dresser, not awaiting Jeno’s permission.

“It’s Gilbert!” he exclaimed, already grinning. The little blue bear leaned against the wall, slightly lopsided. “Long time no see, my friend.” Renjun shook his limp paw.

Jeno watched from a few feet away, letting out a quiet laugh.

“And the basketball!” Renjun scooted down an inch. His painted basketball was proudly on display, propped on top of a textbook. It gave Renjun a funny feeling, knowing that he was represented in Jeno’s room in more than one way, that little pieces of their friendship existed there even when he did not. He was touched by it.

One of the photos on Jeno’s dresser caught his eye. A fluffy white cat, sitting beneath the swingset, tail weaving through the tall grass. Renjun picked it up, tilting it towards the window light. “Cute,” he said.

“Oh yeah.” Jeno walked up behind him. “That’s my cat Magnolia. Maggie, for short.” He paused. “She died last year.”

 _Oh._ Renjun remembered being told this before, by Jaemin when they’d sat together during the sex ed protest. “Sorry,” Renjun said, setting the photo back down.

“It’s okay. She was only a cat.”

Renjun knew he didn’t mean that. “It’s okay to be upset over losing a pet. Even after a year.”

Jeno looked subtly surprised at this. He blinked, and his expression softened. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“How long did you have her?”

“Since I was a baby.”

“She must have been pretty old, then. Did she get put down?”

“Yeah. She was sick.”

“What was she like?”

Jeno looked at the photo rather than Renjun’s face. “Gentle. She couldn’t hear, so you had to be careful not to sneak up on her, or she’d jump five feet in the air. She liked to sit in my lap. And sleep on my bed at night.”

Renjun smiled. He tried to imagine Jeno with his cat, announcing his presence to her by tapping the cushion where she slept, waking up in the morning with her curled on his chest. It was easy to imagine. Very Jeno.

Jeno was smiling too. Renjun took comfort in it, realizing he’d been able to navigate the topic without scratching the old scab open.

He turned and walked to the other side of the room. Here was Jeno’s desk, his bendy desk lamp, his wastebasket that needed to be emptied, his acoustic guitar in the corner. “You play?” Renjun asked.

“A little.”

“Interesting.”

Jeno snorted. “ _Interesting_?”

“Very interesting.” Renjun folded his hands behind his back, coyly meandering to Jeno’s bed. He sat on the edge of it, remembering Jeno doing the same thing in his own room. Renjun touched the blanket. It was cool, the heat not quite strong enough on the second floor to eradicate the winter temperatures. He’d been thinking all last night about how he’d strike up confidence Melinda Carlson kept talking about; but suddenly, it didn’t seem so hard. He was feeling rather adventurous.

“Come here,” he said.

Jeno sat down beside Renjun. They both looked forward at their legs dangling over the side like they were on a cliff — just like they’d looked over the fairgrounds, at the top of the ferris wheel.

As he had then, Renjun reached over the blanket and took Jeno’s hand. Jeno glanced down at it, lips opening and closing like he wanted to say something, but he did not.

“Sorry,” Renjun said. “Is this weird?”

“No. It’s fine.” Jeno paused. “It’s good.”

Renjun’s breath caught, a tiny gasp of pleasure, and he thought he could hear Jeno’s do the same. They watched out the window, where the leaves of a maple tree brushed the top-left pane. Renjun liked that Jeno’s bedroom felt small. He felt very close to him, like the space there had flattened, like they were overlapping paper dolls — fragile in the same way.

“Jeno,” Renjun said.

The walls shook as the front door downstairs slammed shut.

“Must be my dad,” Jeno murmured. He stood, took what seemed to be a moment of brief mental preparation in which he rubbed the back of his neck, and stepped halfway out into the hall. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to bake those cookies, right?”

“Yeah,” Renjun agreed, sad but curious. He felt like a door was slipping open and he was peering through it, seeing a small slice of Jeno’s life. It was illuminating.

He followed Jeno back down the stairs.

—

Jeno’s father was dropping the mail on the table and placing his blazer over the back of a chair. Renjun had found out as he walked down the stairs these facts about him: he worked at an insurance office, he was forty-seven, he liked football better than basketball, much to Jeno’s dismay. When Jeno had joined the basketball team in middle school, his father had been unable to hide his disappointment, and said, “maybe you’ll change your mind by the time high school comes around.” Jeno had not. The conversation had sat untouched ever since, a cold meal they’d both lost their appetites for.

He looked a lot like Jeno, Renjun thought, but minus all the things that made Jeno Jeno. He didn’t have Jeno’s easy attitude and casual grace. He moved instead like he had wire for bones, like a stop-motion puppet — jittery, stilted, permanently uneasy. When he smiled, it was a stifled version of his son’s, only half as sincere and a millionth as bright.

“Hello,” he said. “You must be Renjun.”

“Yup, that’s me,” Renjun said. He was sure that even if Jeno’s father was a massive stickler, which seemed to be the case, the man could still be won over by his innate, effervescent charm. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lee.”

“Of course. I hear a lot about you — the student council is the only thing Jeno ever talks about these days.” He paused, and added aloud as if it was meant to stay an internal thought, “Not that he talks to me much anyways.”

“Dad,” Jeno said sharply.

Renjun did not like this. He did not like it at all. He wanted to go hide in the closet to escape the giant bummer of a cloud hanging in the air, but he decided this would be quite a rude thing to do at another person’s house, so he laughed awkwardly at nothing in particular just to fill the silence, walked around the half-wall into the kitchen, and said, “Come on, Jeno. These cookies won’t bake themselves.

Another thing Renjun did not like was the wrench this new development threw into his plan. Today was supposed to be Kissing Jeno Day. Flirtatious baking, Melinda Carlson style. Renjun was not sure he could do that with Jeno’s father home. What was he supposed to do, just announce, “Hey, just trying to make a move on your son here, nothing to worry about at all?”

Renjun nervously fiddled with the ends of the bag of sugar. He could feel the confidence he’d had upstairs slipping away from him.

“Actually, I have to run to the bathroom,” he told Jeno. “Be right back.”

“Okay,” Jeno said, fetching a large bowl from a cabinet.

Renjun hurriedly shuffled through the living room, past where Jeno’s dad was settling on the couch, into the bathroom Jeno had pointed out earlier.

Once the door was locked, he crouched on top of the toilet seat lid, placing his cellphone under his ear.

“Hello?” Yoorim answered.

“Emergency,” Renjun said.

“You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“I’m hiding in Jeno’s bathroom because his dad is here and their dynamic sucks and I don’t know how to hit on Jeno with his dad within earshot.”

She went quiet for a second. “That is a predicament.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You said you were gonna do this, Renjun. You’re gonna chicken out?”

“No,” Renjun replied defensively. “No way.”

“Then why are you hiding in the bathroom and calling me when you could be stirring up some cookie dough slash romance with your sexy V.P.?”

He sighed. Yoorim was helpful at times, but she had the flexibility of a boulder.

“So you’re saying I just go all in? Flutter my eyelashes? Try and feel his biceps? Undo a button on my shirt while I’m at it?”

“No, I’m saying you flirt like a normal person and talk to him. Just be casual. It’s more important to connect with someone than make some big display of attraction. His dad probably won’t even notice.”

This _had_ been one of Melinda Carlson’s suggestions — ask questions, tell jokes, make a connection. Maybe Yoorim was onto something.

“I — I guess I’ll try it.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Alright. Heading back out.”

“Good luck, soldier.”

Renjun hung up, shot semi-optimistic finger guns at himself in the mirror, and went back out.

Jeno had all the ingredients laid out on the counter and was pulling up the recipe Renjun had sent him on his phone. “I think I got everything,” he said. “Have you made these before?”

“Yup! I like to make them on holidays. The frosting is easily customizable for different occasions.” They were frosted sugar cookies, which Renjun baked sometimes as hearts, sometimes as Christmas trees, sometimes as pumpkins. For their purposes, they would go with simple circles. “They’re tasty, too.”

“Cool. You’ll have to guide me through it. I’m completely hopeless.”

Renjun remembered something suddenly, and hurried to where his backpack was leaning against the wall. He dug in the large pocket and pulled out an apron. It was one Yoorim had gotten him for Christmas a few years back, to which she had a match. _Baking with My Bestie,_ it said in curly font.

“First things first,” he said. “Splatter protection.”

Jeno watched him with huge eyes as Renjun began tying his apron around his neck.

“You didn’t tell me I needed one of those,” Jeno said.

“You don’t own an apron?”

“Nope.”

“Hope you don’t mind getting flour on that shirt, then.” Renjun moved onto the waist ties. A clever little thought occurred to him, one Melinda Carlson would be proud of. He turned around. “Do you mind?” he asked. “These ones are hard.”

He couldn’t see Jeno’s face, but there was a long empty silence before Jeno finally said, “You — you want me to tie it?”

“Yes, please.”

Renjun waited. He felt a tiny tug at the middle of his back as Jeno took the ends of the ties. Renjun was aware of how close Jeno stood to him, his hands inches from his waist, his chest inches from his back. If he leaned back a little, Jeno’s chin would touch his shoulder. The ties slipped tighter. Jeno’s knuckles brushed the ends of Renjun’s shirt.

“There,” Jeno said quietly.

“Thanks.” Renjun turned back around, nearly bumping into Jeno. He casually flattened a wrinkle in the apron. “Good?” he asked.

“Good,” Jeno echoed, eyes still locked on the place where Renjun’s waist had been nipped in as if hypnotized by it.

Renjun coughed into his fist, and walked around Jeno to the counter. His eyes flickered over to the couch, which faced away from the kitchen; he could see only the back of Jeno’s father’s head. Maybe this would be easier than he’d thought. He could already feel the tension in the air, waiting to be spun into sparks.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s start with the cookie dough.” He handed Jeno the large bowl. “Start mixing the dry ingredients in here. I’ll work on the wet ingredients in another bowl.” He plucked a smaller one from the corner of the counter.

Jeno nonchalantly did as Renjun said, but Renjun could see that Jeno was glancing over at his father every few seconds, too. Renjun wasn’t sure if it was for the same reasons he was, or if it was because sharing space with his father set him naturally at edge. To try and draw him back in, Renjun said, “You’ve really never baked anything before?”

_Melinda Carlson Tip #9: Ask questions, make him believe you’re really interested in what he has to say. If a conversation affords another avenue for exploration, take it. Let him be a storyteller. If he’s a dud, feign interest. You can achieve this by holding eye contact and nodding frequently, even if you have no goddamn idea what he’s going on about._

“Well. I remember trying once — it was World Cultures Day in fourth grade, so everyone had to bring in a food from a different place in the world. I tried to make these Irish shortbread cookies. Except I preheated the oven to the wrong temperature and when I went to check them, they were like little black stones.”

Renjun chuckled. “Oh my god. Did you bring them into school like that?”

“Nope. Tossed them. Then I went to the store and bought shortbread cookies, and told the teacher I made them myself.”

“That doesn’t sound like Number Two behavior. Very half-assed.”

“For the record, I was not Number Two at the time.” Jeno gave Renjun a playful nudge. “That was before you moved to West Gardens. So I may have very well been Number One.”

“Impossible,” Renjun said, cracking an egg on the edge of the counter.

“Totally possible.”

“Number One did not exist before I came to town. It was a position they had to create specially for me.”

“So you’re saying that, even in an alternate universe where you don’t exist, I’m _still_ Number Two? There’s simply no Number One spot? Class rankings start at two rather than one?”

Renjun nodded. “It’s your inescapable destiny, Number Two.”

Jeno tipped a cup of flour carelessly into his bowl as he laughed. It poofed up in his face.

“Ack,” he said. “Think I swallowed some of that.” He grabbed a rag from the front of the oven and wiped his cheeks.

“Hold on,” Renjun said. “You missed a bit.”

“Where?”

“Here —” Renjun reached up, finger swiping along the tip of Jeno’s nose.

_Melinda Carlson Tip #14: Don’t be afraid of physical contact, like a light touch on the arm or a brush of the hands. This shows him that you’re interested not only in his brain, but his body too (or sometimes just his body, if that’s your end goal). This is the best way to turn up the heat!_

Jeno’s eyes crossed as he watched Renjun’s finger. Renjun thought he could see the slightest blush in Jeno’s cheeks.

“Hey,” came Jeno’s father’s voice from the living room.

Renjun yanked his hand back to his side. Jeno’s father was half-swiveled in his seat, remote raised. Behind his head, the TV showed a college football game. “There’s a game on, Jeno,” he said.

“Really?” Jeno said flatly, not sounding very interested. “Who’s playing?”

“Campwell v. Lowlands North.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Campwell’s a good school. Maybe you should look at their website.” He paused, and added, “I think they’ve got a good basketball team, too.”

Renjun cringed and felt sorry simultaneously. It was a weak attempt at connecting with his son, but it was an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, maybe,” Jeno said.

His father waited, arm still tossed over the back of the couch. Jeno didn’t say anything else. His father turned back around, staring defeatedly at the TV screen.

“Um,” Renjun said. “Are you done with that?”

Jeno seemed to remember suddenly that they were making cookies, and he looked down at his bowl. “Oh. Yeah.”

Renjun lifted his own bowl and tipped the eggs-butter-sugar concoction in. He worked at it with the spoon until it combined, becoming soft, sticky, pale yellow dough.

Jeno retrieved the cooking sheet from the opposite counter and laid it out in front of them. Renjun floured his hands, then showed Jeno the approximate size of ball which the dough needed to be rolled into. Renjun was not a master baker himself, but Yoorim was, and much of their childhood had been shaped by baking parties, where they’d played _Up All Night_ from Yoorim’s CD player in her kitchen and danced while mixing brownie batter. Thinking about it, he began to hum _What Makes You Beautiful_ under his breath as he rolled a dough ball, swaying gently to the beat inside his brain.

“What are you humming?” Jeno asked. He set one of his balls down next to Renjun’s. It looked awkwardly large and misshapen in comparison, which Renjun found to be strangely cute.

“ _What Makes You Beautiful_ by One Direction.”

“One Direction?”

“Yeah. Don’t laugh at me. I know it’s kinda goofy.”

“What’s One Direction?”

Renjun was so shocked he dropped his half-rolled cookie with a smack onto the parchment paper. “One Direction, Jeno. The band. You know.”

Jeno stared vacantly at him. “I don’t know. Are they popular?”

“Jeno. It’s _One Direction._ Harry, Zayn, Niall, Liam, and Louis. British boyband. Released the masterpiece _Midnight Memories_ in 2013 to critical acclaim. Are you for real?”

“Are you sure you aren’t thinking of OneRepublic?”

Renjun was not sure he could do this anymore. He had half a mind to grab his stuff and leave. Maybe he’d been wrong about Jeno this entire time. He could not be attracted to a boy who did not know — not even not enjoy, but not _know_ — One Direction. This was the dealbreaker. The unforgivable act. Renjun looked for where Jeno had placed the rag, thinking he should clean up and see himself out.

He looked at Jeno again, and saw a tiny smirk on his face.

“Oh my god,” Renjun whispered.

The smirk grew wider. “You really believed me?”

_Melinda Carlson Tip #22: Laugh, even if the joke isn’t funny. Sometimes a man will try for humor that doesn’t quite succeed. In which case, it’s important to still stroke his ego, otherwise he will feel hurt or even betrayed, and then there’s no chance at scoring that second date._

“Hahaha,” Renjun laughed robotically. “Wow. You really got me.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s okay. It was funny.” Renjun did not think it was funny. He thought it was borderline blasphemous, but even the cutest boys had fatal flaws. “So funny.” He slapped his next dough ball onto the sheet with unnecessary force.

Once they were done, the cookies went into the oven and they began to mix the frosting. They were making two batches, one blue and one yellow for the West Gardens school colors.

“I bought the food dye,” Jeno said, peering up and down the counter. “Maybe it’s still in the grocery bag. Hold on —”

He went to move past Renjun to the other end of the counter, and as he did so, he placed his hands at the small of Renjun’s waist, carefully moving his body past. The way he did it seemed subconscious, almost second-nature. To Renjun, it was hair-raising, like he’d just sped down a hill on a roller coaster.

“Oh,” Jeno said, realizing what he’d done. He held his hands up like he was held at gunpoint. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Renjun said. What he meant was, _please do that again, please do it every time you see me, my waist exists only for your maneuvering._

Jeno plucked the food coloring bottles from the bag and handed one to Renjun. They untwisted the tops and plinked a few tiny drops in their bowls, testing how many it took to get the right shades of sky blue and sunflower yellow. Renjun watched Jeno do it from the corner of his eye, the delicate way he held the bottle, the broad backs of his hands and his long, elegant fingers.

_Melinda Carlson Tip #11: Offer compliments at every turn. Not only does this boost his confidence, but it proves that you really value him for his intrinsic attributes._

Renjun peered over the half-wall, double-checking that Jeno’s father was out of earshot.

“You have nice hands,” Renjun murmured.

Jeno fumbled the bottle of food coloring and dropped it directly into his bowl of frosting. It spilled more blue, spattering the frosting like raindrops.

“I what?” Jeno said.

Renjun was feeling shy again, but Yoorim had mentioned honesty, so he repeated, “I think you have nice hands. I mean… I like them.”

“T-thanks,” Jeno said, trying to scoop the food coloring bottle out of the bowl.

“Sorry. It just occurred to me all of a sudden.”

“Just surprised me.” Jeno tilted the bowl. “It’s gonna be… very blue.”

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“I like your hands, too,” Jeno said.

Renjun briefly considered excusing himself outside to scream at the top of his lungs and do cartwheels in the snow, but he restrained himself, and instead responded, voice quivering, “Thank you. I’m glad the feeling is mutual.”

They both jumped at the sound of the fridge opening. They’d been so distracted that they hadn’t noticed Jeno’s father entering the kitchen at the side, pouring himself a glass of water from the Brita filter pitcher. He eyed the two of them unknowingly.

“How are the cookies going?” he asked.

“Great,” Jeno said.

“Are you making any for the house?”

“Didn’t know you wanted any.”

“Are you making any for your mother?” He asked this nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t a loaded question.

“None of your business,” Jeno said.

Renjun’s skin crawled. He shivered worse than he had when they’d come in from the cold.

His father hovered at the fridge, pitcher still in hand. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He put the pitcher back in the fridge and walked back to the couch. When he sat, it seemed extra loud, dropping like a boulder.

The awkwardness had become a kitchen-filling smoke, no burnt cookies required. Renjun and Jeno worked quietly at their bowls. The oven dinged. Jeno took the cookies out and set them on the counter.

“They look good,” Renjun said, pretending nothing was the matter.

“Yeah.” Jeno’s face was cool. He did not seem very interested in the cookies anymore.

Renjun did his best to liven him back up. “This is the fun part!” he declared. “We get to decorate them. I brought some sprinkles from home, too.”

Jeno blinked, a little bit of his warmth returning. “Of course you did.”

“I’m always prepared.” Renjun got his sprinkle containers from his bag and brought them to the counter. “Now, obviously, my cookies are going to be the prettier cookies. So don’t start getting jealous or anything.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jeno said. He began frosting his first cookie clumsily, continuously glancing over as Renjun did the same, like it was a competition. Familiar territory. He bit his tongue in concentration, and Renjun laughed.

“They key to frosting a good cookie,” Renjun explained snootily, “is the wrist.”

“The wrist?”

“Yup.”

“Is the wrist a part of the hand?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, I’m in luck then, as I’ve just been told I have nice hands.”

Renjun blushed, and retorted, “ _Aesthetically_ nice. It’s about the _movement,_ Jeno. The flick of the wrist. It takes years of practice.” He tilted his head, trying to see what Jeno was doing bent over his cookie. “Are you spelling something in sprinkles?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s it say?”

“Nothing.”

“Jeno.” Renjun peered between Jeno’s arms. “That says ‘Huang Renpoop.’”

“Does it?” Jeno said innocently.

“Fix it! We can’t sell that!”

“Why not?”

Renjun tried to wrestle for control of the sprinkles. Jeno laughed as he was pushed sideways, his hand falling on top of his cookie.

“Oh shit,” he said, turning it up. “Look what you did.”

“At least I fixed your indiscretion.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His hand was frosted from pinky tip to wrist. He thrust it in Renjun’s face. “You wasted a perfectly good cookie, plus some perfectly good frosting.”

Without thinking, without even a shred of self-awareness, Renjun impulsively took Jeno’s hand, and went to suck the bit of frosting off the end of his finger as if it were a spoon. He froze with Jeno’s finger an inch from his lips.

“Uh,” Jeno said.

“Uh,” Renjun responded.

 _A little too much confidence,_ said Melinda Carlson’s voice inside Renjun’s head.

“Oh. I was, uh. Just kidding.” Renjun hurriedly released Jeno’s hand. “Yeah.”

Jeno turned to where he’d set the rag on the counter and wiped off the frosting.

Renjun wanted to disappear, possibly move to a different country and change his name.

He looked up, saw Jeno’s dad watching them from the couch with a surprised expression.

“Are you two dating?” he asked.

It was not an unreasonable conclusion, but it felt as subtle as a shattering window.

“No,” Jeno tossed back, eyebrows scrunching. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry. I… I was only asking.”

“Well, can you not? You’re making things weird.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just curious.”

“It’s okay, Jeno,” Renjun piped up. He offered to his father, “It’s okay, Mr. Lee. I’m not bothered by it.” This was not entirely true, but he didn’t want things to escalate.

“Can you just leave us alone while we do this?” Jeno went on, ignoring Renjun. He threw the rag back onto the counter. “Seriously.”

Jeno’s father ran a tired hand over his face. He shut off the TV and went up the stairs.

It was suddenly quiet. Renjun watched Jeno, and wondered if he’d ever seen him mad before.

“Let’s just finish these,” Jeno said.

Renjun nodded, though he didn’t completely understand.

—

When the cookies were frosted and placed in tupperware containers, Renjun and Jeno sat on the porch steps. Jeno had cleared them with the shovel. It was too cold to usually sit outside, except Renjun did not want to be inside that house anymore, and it was clear that Jeno felt the same way because when Renjun had suggested it, he’d simply put on his coat and followed Renjun out into the cold. Renjun felt that all of the most significant moments of the last six months seemed to be of him and Jeno, sitting side by side on a step.

Renjun glanced at the closed door, then at Jeno’s profile. He seemed unusually sullen, eyes turned downward.

“Were you two always like this?” Renjun asked.

Jeno shut his eyes, dredging up an answer. “Not always. We used to be close. Really close, back in elementary school and stuff.” Like he had earlier in his bedroom, he allowed himself to be honest, like he wanted Renjun to know everything. “I remember,” he began, words with a hint of a laugh, full of fondness, “we used to do all kinds of stuff — we went to this minor league baseball game once, and we bought hotdogs, and we had so much fun cheering from the stadium seats. And we used to go to the aquarium all the time — there’s one in Springbend, a big one with lots of fish — and he’d lift me up on his shoulders so I could see. I loved the whale shark the most. Huge thing. He bought me a little plastic model of it. I used to have it on my bureau.”

 _Maybe in the spot Gilbert and basketball are now,_ Renjun thought.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It’s just that… he and my mom started falling apart when I was in middle school. I could see it happening, almost in slow motion. Things got ugly… I got mad,” Jeno admitted. “I know he didn’t do anything to me — not directly. What happened with him and my mom was just between them. But it still hurt to watch it. It ruined how I looked at them. It made me not like them so much. I still _love_ them, but I don’t like them.”

Renjun couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. He knew that not every child was as close with their parents as he was to his mother. He thought that perhaps if he met up with his father now, after so long being treated like a distant obligation, he might understand the way Jeno felt. But at the end of the day, he still had someone to go home to who felt like a friend. Jeno didn’t have that. Jeno didn’t even have his cat anymore — not even that small comfort.

“I know I’m cold to him for no reason sometimes,” Jeno went on. “He tries to talk to me like we used to, but I just shut him down. It’s petty. I’m like a little kid.” He gave a self-deprecating headshake. “So immature.”

Jeno had always seemed more mature than most of the kids their age — quiet, polite, even-tempered. But who you were at school wasn’t always the same as who you were at home. The mental image of Jeno that Renjun kept inside his head grew another dimension, but he found it didn’t make him love him any less.

“I’m sorry you feel like that,” he said. “It must be hard.”

“Sometimes,” Jeno said.

“Do you ever think you could forgive the both of them?”

“I don’t know.”

It was really cold out. Renjun bundled his scarf tighter, then mustered up the last of his _daring, guts, growth_ and leaned his head against Jeno’s shoulder, huddling for that little bit of warmth.

Jeno reached up behind, ruffling Renjun’s hair and letting his hand stay there after, fingers curled between locks. It had been a while since he’d last done that. Renjun found it still made him feel the same way as it had the first time, like he was full enough to burst.

“Jeno,” Renjun said.

“What?”

“I just want to make sure. You definitely know who One Direction is, right?”

Jeno smiled. Renjun was thankful for it. He was worried Jeno would not be able to muster one.

“I do. _X Factor._ They did that song about how nobody, nobody can drag them down.”

“That would be _Drag Me Down.”_

“Aptly titled.”

_Melinda Carlson Tip #4: Smile like every word he says makes your day._

Renjun found he didn’t need to force that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience!
> 
> not sure how frequent updates will be from here on out, but you can at least consider this the end of the mcp hiatus. i'll probably still be on-and-off on twitter for a while, but hopefully this will make up for it!!
> 
> i look forward to your comments as always!! love u all
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/playing_prince) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/playing_prince)


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